When Keller opened his eyes, the world looked wrong.
He was lying on cracked pavement that shimmered like glass, reflecting a skyline that shouldn't exist. Seoul—at least, it looked like Seoul—spread out around him, but the towers leaned at impossible angles, their edges bending toward the sky like molten metal frozen mid-drip. The air was thick, humid, humming with a low vibration that pressed into his chest with every breath. He pushed himself up, wincing as a sharp ache flared through his ribs. His comms were silent. His glove—dead.
"Keller to Lin… Hana… anyone?" he rasped, but the only answer was the soft echo of his own voice bouncing through the distorted streets.
