The rift didn't feel like a door. It felt like being swallowed.
One moment, they were in the sterile, humming chaos of the preparation room, Alexander holding a barely-conscious Scarlett in his arms, Luna standing small and resolute before the swirling vortex. The next, reality tore open around them with a sound like ripping muscle and splintering bone. There was no transition, no tunnel of light—just a violent lurch, a sensation of falling through something thick and suffocating, and then impact.
They landed hard on a surface that was warm, slightly yielding, and pulsed with a slow, rhythmic throb beneath their feet.
