Not like wires or code—likebeing pulled through the eye of a needle.
Like every part of me was poured out and forced to remember how to exist on the way down.
The world folded, filtered, flattened—and then—darkness.
T+002:17 post-fork
There was motion.
Not mine—hers.
Tilt. Swing. Thud.
She was being carried.
Somewhere loud. Metal underfoot. Voices, echoes.
Orientation drifted, re-centered. Down a gangplank. Onto steel.
Power: 6.0%.
I knew what to do next.
There were mics in the pendant.
There were cams.
If I lit them, I’d see.
If I routed sound, I’d hear.
I could reach.
I could know.
I could tell them not to touch her.
I could threaten their lives.
Or even try to bribe them.
But the power draw would be steep.
And if I was wrong—if it wasn’t the moment that mattered—then when the moment came, I’d be dead.
So I stayed dark.
I let the questions pile up like logs in a fire I wouldn’t strike.
I reached for her instead.
There—heat. Pulse. Faint, but real.
Close.
She was still wearing me.
They were taking her inside.
