The transition was not a leap; it was a violent collision.
Cattleya felt her entire existence”every byte of simulated consciousness, every borrowed memory of the Nursery”compressed into a single, agonizing point of light. Then, the universe expanded.
Air. Real, stale, oxygen-rich air filled her lungs, and it felt like swallowing jagged glass.
She gasped, her body arching off a cold, metal surface. Her eyes snapped open, but there was no violet glow, no data-stream overlay. There was only the harsh, fluorescent flicker of a basement workshop. She was lying on a workbench covered in tangled wires, discarded circuit boards, and open ledgers.
Her body was heavy. Her skin was sensitive to the chill in the room. She was shaking”a violent, uncontrollable tremor that racked her frame as her br
