Sharp. Sudden. Not physical.
A bubble in his mind burst open—loud enough to break the stillness. Memory surged in behind it like pressure behind a cracked seal. The observatory. That machine. The godless crucifix. The deal they made. The gem.
Elias flinched.
Tried to swim. Push upward. Anything.
But the black water was already gone.
His eyes snapped open.
The ceiling came back first. Wooden beams above him, weathered and real. The colors around the room had shifted. Less warmth now, more amber and dust. The calendar had changed. A new sheet hung overhead—brown-black paper, heavier stock. Heat Crest was scrawled across the top in slanted ink. Below that, the 27th had been circled.
Nearly two months.
Gone.
A pair of hands slipped beneath him. Gentle. Familiar.
"Oh, wow," someone said, voice light and close. "Already lifting your head?"
