Chapter 2. Echoes in the Static
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The articulated chair of the Resonance Chamber felt less like furniture and more like a high-tech embrace, cool gel supports conforming precisely, almost intimately, to Julian Vance’s back and limbs. Stripped to the waist, the array of gleaming sensors already adhering to his skin felt like cold, metallic leeches, mapping the terrain of his body for the coming storm. He forced another easy grin, hoping it reached his eyes, hoping it masked the tremor he felt deep in his gut. He hated the smell – that sharp, sterile tang of antiseptic overlaying the faint, electric ozone hum of the machinery. It was the smell of clean rooms and final moments, a scent that scraped raw against memories he fought constantly to keep buried. It reminded him too much of hospi
