Elias stopped sleeping.
At first, it was subtle—shortened rest cycles, shallow dreams fractured by static. Then the dreams vanished entirely, replaced by long stretches of darkness where his body lay still but his mind refused to shut down.
The Veil did not rest.
They hid in the undercity, deep beneath Greyline's lowest surveillance grid, inside a dead transit hub sealed decades earlier. Rusted rails cut through the chamber like exposed bones, and Veil-suppressive sigils glowed faintly along the walls, pulsing in irregular rhythms.
Rook called it a sanctuary.
Elias called it a coffin.
"You're deteriorating," Rook said flatly, watching Elias tremble on the concrete floor. "That's normal."
Elias laughed weakly. It came out wrong—too sharp, too loud. "Normal people don't hear reality breathing."
Rook crouched in front of him, eyes cold and analytical. "Normal people don't survive the Veil."
The static pressed inward again, tightening around Elias's thoughts. His vision blurred as phantom shapes crawled along the walls—elongated reflections of himself, their faces hollow, mouths stretched open in silent screams.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
They didn't go away.
"This is Echo-Bearer Syndrome," Rook continued. "Stage One. Sensory overlap. Dissociation. Emotional instability."
Mara stood near the tunnel entrance, arms crossed, face rigid. She hadn't slept either. Elias could see it in the tightness around her eyes, the way her gaze avoided him when the static grew loud.
Rook stood and kicked Elias's leg.
Hard.
Pain exploded up his shin, sharp and grounding. Elias cried out, clutching the injury.
"Again," Rook said.
"What?" Elias gasped.
"Pain anchors you," Rook replied. "Suffering teaches your nervous system where your body ends and the Veil begins. If you can't draw that line, you'll dissolve."
He kicked him again.
Elias screamed, not just from pain—but from rage.
The static surged in response.
The air warped violently. Dust lifted from the ground, spiraling upward before Rook slammed his foot down, breaking the effect instantly.
"Uncontrolled," Rook said. "You're still reacting. Not commanding."
Mara stepped forward. "You're breaking him."
Rook looked at her. "You brought him to me because you knew what he was. Don't pretend this is unexpected."
That landed harder than the kick.
Elias stared at Mara.
"What does he mean?" he asked quietly.
Mara didn't answer.
The silence stretched.
"I knew," she finally said. "Not exactly how bad. But… I suspected."
The static roared.
"You knew," Elias repeated, voice shaking. "And you never told me."
Mara clenched her fists. "I was trying to protect you."
"By lying?"
By then, Elias was shaking violently. His reflection in a broken panel twisted, flesh seeming to ripple and stretch like it didn't quite belong to him anymore. Veins darkened beneath his skin, branching unnaturally before fading again.
Rook watched closely.
"Stage Two is starting," he said. "Good. And bad."
Mara took a step back.
Rook turned to her. "Continuum's been tracking you longer than him, you know."
Her breath caught.
"You made a deal," Rook said calmly. "Delayed extraction in exchange for cooperation."
Elias's heart dropped.
"Mara," he whispered. "Tell me he's lying."
She didn't.
The static screamed.
Elias collapsed, clutching his chest as something inside him twisted violently, organs shifting, bones creaking under unseen pressure. He felt too large for his own skin, like his body was trying to reshape itself to match something deeper.
Rook grabbed Elias's face, forcing eye contact.
"Don't lose yourself now," he ordered. "If you break here, you become Choir food."
Mara backed away, tears streaking silently down her face.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
The Veil surged.
And Elias felt something inside him begin to open.