"We made it," Dax whispered. His voice didn't echo; it resonated, vibrating against the obsidian floor. He reached out, his hand finding mine. His touch was the only anchor in a space that defied every law of physics I had ever learned. "Mia, look."
Standing at the end of the obsidian pathway, framed by the swirling galaxies, were two figures. They didn't look like the holograms we had seen in the basement or the digital ghosts that had haunted the network. They looked young, vibrant, and terrifyingly real.
Marcus Steele and Chen Wei.
They were dressed in simple, timeless robes of woven light. Marcus wore the amber of the Wolf, and my father wore the sapphire of the Ghost. They were smiling, but it wasn't the smile of parents greeting their children; it was the smile of engineers seeing
