Julian Ravenscroft woke to the muted hum of the Ravenscroft penthouse, the deep thrum of the city a distant counterpoint to the powerful new rhythm within him. His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the soft, diffused light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Two days had passed since the harrowing descent into the Myanmar temple, since the betrayal of Ben, since the perilous stabilisation of the Aetherium Core. He felt the echo of that desperate struggle in his very bones.
He pushed himself upright, a groan escaping his lips as a dull ache spread through his left arm. The corrupted burn from the Shadow Assassin's whip was still a prominent, angry bruise, but the cold, dead sensation was gone, replaced by a deep, constant throb. His own Aetherium, now fortified by the Core, was
