The mirror hates me today.
Not in the dramatic way—no cracks, no warping, no accusing reflections. It just shows me too clearly. Damp hair braided back with Mira’s efficient fingers. Aetherion blacks fitted tight at the shoulders and ribs. The ring on my finger a quiet, smug, cooling and warming like it’s breathing.
My resonance hums under my skin, low and constant, like the Array’s engines have relocated to my bloodstream. It’s steadier than it was thirty ago. That’s the alarming part.
I should be shaking. I should be screaming. I should be curled up on the med cot with a blanket and a bad joke and Mira’s hands on my shoulders telling me to breathe.
Instead, I feel… aligned.
That scares me more than panic ever did.
“Don’t glare at yourself like that,” Mira says behind me. “You’ll st
