The lead attached to Darius’s imprint made no light.
Eli had expected one, perhaps because so much of the old machinery had announced itself that way. A window opening where nothing stood. A fracture turning bright beneath his gaze. Now there was only a dull conductor clamped to the bridge, a needle traveling across Juno’s instrument, and the taste of metal beneath his tongue.
“Don’t follow the needle,” Tessa said. “Tell me what you feel.”
“Pressure behind my left eye.”
“Changing?”
“Not yet.”
She repeated it for the technician, who kept his hand beside the manual isolation lever. The brace beneath Eli’s forearms carried the weight of the connection. His wrists rested against padding dark with old grime, and a short strap kept the loose end of the conductor from falling if his fingers opened. It did not bind his hands. They had checked that before he agreed to begin.
Across the chamber, the inner frame shuddered. Mira’s signal came along the physical line: two small movements, a pause, another movement. Still holding. Still inside.
