My first breath tastes like moonlight and metal.
Cold air fills my lungs, sharp enough to cut. My eyes snap open, and I jolt upright, hands braced against something smooth and solid beneath me. The floor glows faintly, rippling like liquid silver. I stagger to my feet, my pulse racing, head pounding as if something enormous tried to pry my thoughts apart.
I am standing in a hall.
No, not a hall. A place pretending to be one. A vast corridor made of shifting silver walls that bend and ripple as if they are made of living glass. The ceiling stretches into darkness. The floor reflects my image back at me, except the reflection is a heartbeat late. It moves after I do, like a delayed echo of myself trying to catch up.
My pulse flares beneath my skin. It feels wrong. Too bright. Too loud. E
