The simulation cut out. One second I was burning shadow monsters in a subway tunnel, the next I was staring at the acoustic tile of the ceiling, its gray surface peppered with water stains from some unseen leak. The low, steady hum of the building's climate control vibrated through the pod's frame.
Ugh. Reality.
The basement smelled like burnt electronics and expensive cleaning products. You know that smell rich tech companies have? Like they're trying to mask the scent of overworked circuits with lemon-scented lies? Yeah. That.
My body still remembered the simulation. The phantom weight of claws ripping across my back. The heat from my own flames cooking my skin. Skylar's smoke wrapping around me like living fog. Weird how your brain holds onto fake pain.
Speaking of Skylar.
