“I’m not strong enough for this,” I’d told him after.
He’d pressed his forehead to mine. “You don’t have to be. Just don’t leave.”
And I didn’t.
But I lied anyway.
CHAPTER 24
NAULL
In the lab corridor I feel it first: a vibration in the air, a tingle behind my scalp where the Meld once thrummed. The scent of Garma rises through the intake vents—baby powder and ozone, faint bronze warmth layered over innocence. I stop and inhale it deeply. My boots click on metal grating. I don’t move until the moment passes. I don’t allow the thought:that could be mine.
It’s Garma. The child is indeed mine.
But Aria… She never confirms what Garma can do.
My patience—longer than my will, sturdier than steel—is beginning to crack.
Later, in the Simulation chamber--white walls, cables like vines dropping from the ceiling, stink of ozone and neural gel--that’s where she and I sit strapped. Portable node experiment they call it. Me and her. We exchange a glance; her eyes caution-bright. I nod. We begin.
Through the visor feed we fall into another world—acid plains and violet skies of Rhavadaz, winds that slice through metal like knives. The simulated creature lumbers. We move. Meld active. Her mind in mine. Mine in hers.
I feel her tremor.
“Aria—stay with me,” I call through the interface.
Her voice wobbles, “I’m here… but not safe.”
Static crackles in the neural stream. The lights flicker.
Somethingteeth-hardscreams inside me.
The beast strikes. My motion slow. The simulation falters. Panels glitch. The world vaporizes into feedback.
I rip the helmet off. I gasp air—real air, sterile and cold. My heart pounds. My heads woolly.
She yanks off her visor, hair plastered to her forehead, face pale as a shield.
“Naull?” she whispers.
“I saw?—”
Her eyes blaze.
“Jesus, Naull, you saw what? My override? Our failure?”
Something cracks in the core of my mind. The door of the chamber bursts open. Techs rush in, alarms peel. I stagger out onto the deck.
“Tell me what’s going on,” I hiss. Rain of sweat beads across my brow.
She watches me. Not loud. Not broken. Just pale, tight-lipped.
“Tellmethe truth,” I say, voice raw.
She doesn’t speak.
And in the silence, the echo of Spectra’s face flashes in my vision: gaunt, laughing, “The child… the future… the broken bond.”
