Tessa dropped to her knees before she even realized she was falling.
Her breath came in harsh, broken pulls, fingers splayed across the chamber floor—slick with sweat, grit, and the final remnants of something far colder. The construct lay beside her, twitching in its death spiral, glitching like a corrupted thought trying to rewrite itself and failing.
Camilla didn't move immediately. Her eyes were locked on the spiral embedded in the floor.
It hadn't faded.
It had shifted.
The light no longer dispersed outward. It was curling inward now—slow and deliberate, like a sinkhole drinking its own creation. And that meant only one thing: the chamber had not concluded its task.
Phase two, she thought. Or maybe containment mode. Initiation logic was hardwired into the deep infrastructure, impossible to predict.
Either way, they wouldn't survive what came next.
She crossed the chamber in four swift strides, dropped beside Tessa, and hooked a gloved hand beneath her arm.
