So it reaches for her.
This time, the handshake comes in at a slightly different angle.
It’s learned.
It’s trying to slip through the gaps in our interference pattern.
It hits us like cold fire.
Nyra’s resonance surges. The Codex slams up behind it. The Choir laughs.
My models shatter.
“f**k,” I say, eloquent as ever.
Theron looks up at her from the floor—eyes widening as he feels it too.
“Echo,” he says. “Stay the hell out of its mouth.”
“Not entirely under my control,” she grits out.
Lythar’s expression sharpens.
“Yes,” he says softly. “There it is. The Tower echo. Choir on one side, Codex on the other, you in the middle. You could fix everything, if you stopped fighting it.”
“Your idea of ‘fix’ involves mass graves,” she snaps. “Hard pass.”
The handshake pushes harder.
Ou
