"What?" She sits up a bit straighter, her hand tightening on his arm. What's happening? Is he leaving? For where? "Jay--"

And then he's gone. There's no art to it, no sound, no dispersement into mist; he just blinks out of existence, and her fingernails tap against the wooden table top as her fist closes on the nothingness he's left behind and drops.

She freezes, waiting for something - for him to find his way back, perhaps. But moments pass, and he doesn't. There isn't even any sound from the garden. The house is dusk-dim and quiet, and she is alone.