The world came back in fragments.
Searing white. Crumbling concrete. Smoke that tasted of burning circuits and human desperation.
Charles coughed violently, lungs full of dust and powdered glass. His ears rang like church bells after a warzone, the sound so intense it felt like his skull might crack. The ceiling above was gone—collapsed from the blast that had torn through the WinWin facility like the fist of an angry god. Steel rebar jutted from the walls like the bones of a broken beast, twisted and blackened, still glowing with residual heat.
He groaned, body half-buried beneath twisted pipes and charred debris. Blood dripped from a fresh gash along his brow, the metallic taste mixing with concrete dust on his tongue. His left shoulder screamed with each breath, probably dislocated from the impact.
But he was alive.
More importantly—
He turned his head, vision swimming with spots of color.
"Olivia…?"
No answer.
