The deep medical lab at the Blackthorn Academy is a sanctuary of cold, blue light and the hum of quantum processors, but today, it feels like a tomb.
It has been six hours since we pulled Asher out of the dreamscape. Six hours since we weaponized our own human flaws to crash the Formless’s logical processors. Six hours since the physical world stopped freezing over.
But the air in the lab is still freezing.
I sit on the edge of the central examination table, my heavily bandaged hand resting gently on Asher’s knee. My ribs ache with every shallow breath, the heavy tape shifting against my bruised skin, but the physical pain is entirely eclipsed by the cold, hard knot of terror in my stomach.
Asher is sitting beside me, his legs dangling over the side. He is dressed in simple pajamas, hi
