The Adjuster did not belong in the ruins of the In-Between. He was a creature of sharp creases and polished shoes, a man who looked like he had stepped out of a boardroom in mid-town Manhattan rather than the wreckage of a cosmic war. He clicked his ballpoint pen—a sound that felt louder than a thunderclap in the heavy silence of our new world—and squinted at his clipboard through horn-rimmed spectacles.
"Out of compliance?" I repeated, my voice raspy and thin. I tried to stand, but the effort made the world spin. Silas caught my elbow, his own hand shaking. He looked at the Adjuster with a mixture of confusion and a deep-seated, instinctual dread.
"Oh, vastly so," the Adjuster said, not looking up. He flipped a page on his clipboard. "Let’s see. Unregulated reality stitching, unauthoriz
