The rain fell like dust, fine, silver, almost soundless.
Morning had come too early—the sun stood behind the clouds, pale as a forgotten moon. Rhea knelt beside the radio, her hands deep in the cables, while Alaric made fire.
Lina sat a few meters away, knees pulled up to her chest, her gaze fixed on her palms. Where the golden lines had burned yesterday, there were now only fine, light scars, like cracks in glass.
"How do you feel?" Alaric finally asked.
"Empty," she said quietly. "But somehow... awake."
He looked at her, his face shadowed by the hood. "You were gone for two minutes. No breathing. No pulse."
"I know."
"And you say that as if it's nothing."
"Because that's how it feels," she whispered. "As if part of me stayed somewhere else."
Rhea looked up from her improvised terminal. "You did."
Lina raised her head. "What?"
"I scanned the frequency residue. Your body is emitting a pattern I've never seen before. It's not a signal anymore—it's a code."
