It happened while she was asleep.
Or trying to sleep.
Her body lay still in the bunk, breath slow, arms limp, but her thoughts were pulsing—pressurized, overclocked, blistering under the skin of her skull. She couldn't rest. Not really.
Because she was echoing.
Not dreams.
Lives.
At 03:17, the breach flared.
Cassian saw it first on the vitals feed—Julia's neural rhythms spiking, layering.
Then multiplying.
"Julia," he said softly, stepping into the dark room.
She didn't hear him.
She wasn't there.
Not entirely.
Her body glowed faintly with bioluminescent glyph etchings—one on each forearm, one at the base of her throat, and another—new—burning faintly just above her heart.
Then she spoke.
Not aloud.
Through resonance.
A whisper that didn't need air.
"I am… I was…"
She sat bolt upright.
Eyes wide, but not blind.
Brimming.
Then she stood—and collapsed.
They caught her before she hit the floor.
