The silence inside The Spire was not a lack of sound; it was an active cancellation. The air felt compressed, a pressurized stillness that allowed the soft, rhythmic clicking of the black glass walls to resonate in the base of my skull. As I stood at the center of the command floor, the floor beneath my feet felt less like stone and more like a frozen lake of light.
My vision was no longer a window; it was a dashboard. I saw the heat signature of Julian’s station wagon as it sat idling on the salt flats below, a dying ember in a world of blue gradients. I saw the frantic, uneven pulse of Ethan’s heart—a jagged line of orange that flickered against the cold gray of the desert.
"You’re checking his vitals," Eleanor’s voice echoed, her footsteps sounding like silver bells on the glass. "A r
