I wake to a sharp, violent spike of cold, geometric static tearing through the mate bond. It is not the echo of the programmable matter. It is the Formless, reaching out, trying to lock onto the Key.
I sit up, gasping. The bedroom is freezing. The breath plumes in the air, freezing instantly on the glass of the windows.
Kade is already awake. He is out of bed, his right hand gripping his tactical sidearm, his left sleeve pinned to his chest. His green eyes are wide, entirely focused on the empty space beside me.
Asher, Kade projects, his mental voice a sharp, tactical drumbeat. He’s gone.
I throw off the covers, ignoring the protest of my bruised ribs, and sprint into the hallway. The Academy is dark, the pack sleeping in the residential wings. But the cold is leading us. It’s a physic
