The Montana bunker had become a sanctuary of fragile peace.
Michael stood at the entrance, staring out at the snow-covered mountains. The sun was rising, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink. It was beautiful. Peaceful. Three weeks had passed since the destruction of the Absolute's core, three weeks since the original creator had faded into the universe, three weeks since Michael had walked away from death and found himself still breathing.
But the peace felt hollow. Fragile. Like a glass bubble that could shatter at any moment.
Clarice appeared beside him, her hand slipping into his. She was wearing a thick coat, her breath misting in the cold air. "You're doing it again," she said.
"Doing what?"
"Standing out here, staring at the mountains like you're waiting for something to
