The Prime Node didn't look like a doorway. It looked like a vertical ocean of white lightning, contained within a cylinder of glass that thrummed with a frequency so low I could feel it in my bone marrow. Standing before it on the observation deck, the air was thick with the scent of ozone and the metallic tang of blood. Behind us, the city of Aethelgard was screaming—a million car alarms, the distant roar of the "Hollowed" in the streets, and the rhythmic, terrifying pulse of the red sterilization clock in the sky.
22:14:05.
"We have to go now," Leo said. His voice was small, but it carried a strange, crystalline resonance that made the glass of the Node vibrate in sympathy. He wasn't looking at me; he was looking into the pillar, his golden eyes reflecting the data-streams that were
