Damien's body floated in the Threshold Sea, the black waters that bordered unmade time. The coil in his chest had ruptured. Not destroyed—reborn.
A new organ. A new purpose.
The Spinal Clock wound through his bones like a parasite and a prophecy. He coughed, and when he did, the waves shifted backward.
Someone had pulled him out. Someone not Lyra.
"Easy," said a voice. "Temporal shock makes even gods bleed."
Damien opened his eyes.
A child stood before him, cloaked in twilight. Skin like obsidian. Eyes like star charts.
"I'm what you left behind," the child said.
"And what I'll become," Damien whispered.