~Elara~
Thirst woke me. Not the normal kind—this was a vicious, burning sensation that seemed to originate from every silver filament now integrated into my body. I ran my tongue over cracked lips as I struggled to orient myself in the darkness of my "guest quarters" at Damon's compound.
Guest. Right. Prisoners with privileges was more accurate.
The digital clock on the nightstand read 3:17 AM. Three days since the press conference. Four days since I'd agreed to Damon's terms to save my father.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet meeting the cold floor. The sensation traveled up my nervous system differently now—each texture, temperature, and pressure registered with mathematical precision in my brain. The Algorithm processed everything, quantifying my experiences i
