The air in the warehouse didn't just turn cold; it curdled. The crimson glare from the dead screens cast long, jagged shadows across the floor, making the old paper maps look like bleeding wounds. The little girl The Door stood framed in the wreckage of the entrance, her presence a silent scream that tore through the quiet of the room.
"Sonoko, get back!" Nala yelled, shoving the architect behind a stack of crates.
But her focus was pulled back to Leo. He was arched in the chair, his spine popping like dry kindling. The obsidian glass was spreading up his neck, a slow moving infection of dark geometry. The modem shriek in his chest was getting louder, a digital seizure that threatened to shatter his ribs from the inside out.
"Nala..." Leo’s voice was a wet rattle. "The girl... she isn't
