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"Blood Echo allows me to access memory stored through blood."

The second examiner looks down at his notes. "Visual memory?"

"Not exclusively."

"Explain."

"Emotion. Sensory information. Physical experience. Sometimes thought." My father's gaze sharpens slightly. I continue. "The depth depends on the sample."

"And duration?"

"Variable."

"Control?"

"Improving."

Professor Vayne's eyes flick toward me. Not approval.

Not disagreement. Simply listening. The examiner writes something down. "What are the risks?"

I don't hesitate. "Emotional contamination. Disorientation. Loss of temporal awareness. Difficulty distinguishing the donor's physical sensations from my own."

"Anything else?"

I think. "Access."

The Councillor looks up. "Clarify."

"The manifestation allows me to enter information the donor may never have chosen to share." Silence.

Professor Neris becomes very still. The examiner studies me for a moment. Then writes again. Good. Or terrible. Impossible to tell.

"Begin."

Professor Vayne steps toward a narrow table positioned beside the practice circle. Three sealed vials rest upon it. Each contains only a small amount of blood. No labels. No names. No context. He opens the first.

"Controlled entry." I move toward him. "Ten seconds." I nod. Touch the blood.

Warmth. Flour. A kitchen. Sunlight pouring through a window. Hands older than mine pressing dough into a wooden surface. A song somewhere nearby.

Off-key. Terribly so. Affection follows immediately. Not for the song. For the person singing it. I let the memory exist around me. Don't chase it. Don't reach farther. Ten seconds. I withdraw.

The chamber returns cleanly. No stumble. No gasp.

No moment of confusion. Professor Vayne watches my pupils. The Councillor asks,

"What did you see?"

"A kitchen."

"Specifics."

"Late morning. Bread preparation. Wooden counter. Someone singing from another room."

"Emotion?"

"Affection."