I feel it through the shadows first—a flattening, like all the edges in the room beyond just got sanded down. The hum that comes back is wrong: not Nyra’s tone, not pure absence. Something layered, stiff, like liturgy crucified on math.
My skin crawls.
“It’s Nameris-based,” she whispers. “Not pure. Warped. They built a silence-web. It’s not firing yet, but it’s primed.”
“Device?” I ask.
“Something like it,” she says. “I can feel anchor points. Four. No—five. One’s dead. The others are… dormant.”
Her hum sharpens for half a second. The silence on the other side surges.
Pain spikes behind my eyes, sharp enough that I flinch physically. Nyra’s breath catches. The ring on her hand flares hot, bright for an instant.
It happens fast. One moment, she’s humming in control, her frequency wra
