Asher looks up. His mismatched eyes—one green, one silver—are dull, the vibrant light entirely absent. He forces a small, fragile smile. "Hi, Mama. Hi, Papa."
I sit on the grass beside him, ignoring the damp chill of the earth seeping through my trousers. Kade sits on his other side, wrapping his right arm around both of us.
"What are you drawing, Asher?" I ask, my physical voice steady.
He hesitates, then turns the stylus screen toward me.
It is not a drawing of the pack, or the Academy, or the integration school pups. It is not even the geometric lattice he drew after the flare-up.
It is a soundwave.
A perfect, hyper-detailed rendering of a 432 Hertz frequency, modulated with complex, non-Euclidean fractal shapes. The charcoal is pressed so hard into the digital canvas that the pix
