The world had finally stopped screaming.
For weeks—no, for as long as Kyle could remember—there had been a low-frequency hum in the back of his skull, a static that tasted like copper and felt like needles beneath the skin.
But now, as Alex stepped back from him, the quiet was so sudden it felt like a physical blow.
Kyle looked down at his arms.
The bandages lay like shed snakeskin on the floor, discarded and grey.
His skin was... skin.
Just skin.
The angry, pulsing black veins that had been threatening to swallow his pulse had vanished back into the marrow, leaving no trace behind. He traced a trembling finger over his forearm, expecting to feel a jagged vein, but there was nothing but the living warmth of his own flesh.
"What happened?" Kyle asked. His voice sounded thin to his own ears.
Alex didn't answer immediately.
He stood a few paces away, his silhouette sharp and imposing against the dying orange glow of the fire.
