The hike away from the camp was a blur of exhaustion, rhythmic footfalls, and the heavy, stifling silence of muscle memory. My skin felt entirely wrong—prickling with a frantic, buzzing static that crawled just beneath my flesh, itching to be let out. The energy wasn't just leaking anymore; it was overflowing, erratic and sharp, a volatile pressure that hammered against my ribs with nowhere to ground itself.
Seth stopped where the trees grew thick enough to choke out the moonlight. He didn't check for comfort; he simply dropped his pack and pulled a small, moss-colored dampener from his belt—a piece of tech-shroud he’d been guarding with his life. He set it on a patch of barren soil, and the air immediately went flat. The ambient hum of the forest died, replaced by a dull, artificial sile
