We stood at the threshold of the Silk-Caves. The air felt like a lung, expanding and contracting with a slow, synthetic breath. It was thick with the scent of ozone and the damp, sweet rot of violet wheat—a sensory contradiction that made my skin crawl.
Seth slid his glasses onto his face. The lenses pulsed with a blue lattice, overlaying his vision with streams of raw data. He didn't look at me or Elaris; he was reading the cave, his fingers brushing the cold, vibrating rock of the entrance.
"He doesn't just inhabit this space, Ivy," Seth said, his voice clipped and devoid of his usual cadence. "He’s re-coded it. Everything you see, hear, or feel from this point on is a calculated output. Treat the environment as hostile."
"I know the difference between a memory and a cage," I said, my
