The alarms were no longer isolated cries in the distance. They had blended into one long, continuous wail that vibrated through stone, metal, flesh, and bone. Red lights strobed across the purification hall as Bright Morgan stood over the dead cultist girl, her final smile forever carved into his mind.
Ink still seeped from the ruptured valve—thick as blood, smelling of rot and old rain. And beneath that smell… something else. A hum. A pulse. A whisper.
A presence.
Hailen had sensed it too. His blade remained drawn, edge dripping with the girl's blood, his expression carved into grim granite.
Knowing that the ability core a recruit wielded also improved their foundational structure, and in Bright's case it was his boosted perception.
He shifted slightly in his stance.
"Morgan," he said quietly, "listen again."
