Space wasn’t quiet in a comforting way. It felt thick with dread, almost suffocating. Inside the Library of Light, the air tasted sharp, like electricity and old book pages. The ship slid past the stars, its engines rumbling with a low, shaky noise. June felt every tremble right in her teeth.
Her heart pounded against her ribs. She couldn’t take her eyes from the baby’s arm. The black ink wasn’t just sitting there—it was moving. Alive. Under the baby’s skin, numbers blinked like a countdown, glowing with a sickly, dark light.
“Dante, look at her arm!” June’s voice came out hard and edged with fear.
Dante dashed over. His boots tapped loudly across the marble. He reached out for the baby, but froze. The air around the child was ice-cold; frost crept over the baby’s blanket.
“Is that...
