The phone screen remains black, but the geometric hexagon lingers in my mind’s eye like a burn mark on a photograph.
Beside me, Kade’s mental presence shifts from warm, protective comfort to a sharp, tactical alertness. I feel his heart rate elevate in my own chest, a synchronized thud of adrenaline. He doesn’t ask if I’m okay; he already knows I’m not. The earth’s consciousness, usually a steady, rhythmic hum in the background of my mind, is recoiling. It’s pulling away from the signal, curling inward like a leaf exposed to frost.
It’s not the earth, Kade projects, his mental voice tight. The earth is afraid of it.
I know, I reply, setting the dead phone on the balcony railing. My hands are trembling. It felt like… an absence. A hollow space where the resonance should be.
Come inside,
