Sera's posture remained neutral. "Years," she repeated.
Adam nodded, as if pleased she'd noticed the scale. "This didn't start when the world fell," he said, and for the first time since he'd entered the room, his voice held something like reverence as he looked around, seeing something that only he could see. "This started long before the collapse. Long before the outbreaks. Long before anyone knew the world could be rewritten."
Sera's creature leaned in again, eager now. Say it. Say the part where you thought you were God.
Adam gestured at the data like it was proof of divinity. "When a system fails," he said, "you don't patch it. You replace it. Humans were already failing. Disease, war, famine—every cycle repeating. The outbreak didn't ruin humanity. It revealed its weakness."
Sera listened. She didn't need to nod. She didn't need to react. She let him talk because men like Adam couldn't resist the sound of their own certainty.
