Chapter 74: A Whisper in a Hurricane
The problem with god-like silence was that it left far too much room for thinking. And thinking, Lyra was discovering, was a dangerous pastime when you were trapped in a tomb full of ghosts.
Three days. Or was it four? Time had started to blur, the artificial day-night cycle of the Vault's lighting feeling like a hollow pantomime. She'd run out of nutrient packs yesterday and had been forced to ask the Guardian how to synthesize more. The resulting paste tasted vaguely of mushrooms and regret.
Her world had shrunk to the central platform. She slept curled on the cold floor, her body aching for the warmth of furs and the solid, reassuring weight of Kael's arm across her. She'd tried sleeping in one of the empty side chambers, but the sheer, unnerving stillness had driven her back within an hour, her heart pounding like a trapped thing. Here, at least, the console hummed. It was a poor substitute for a heartbeat, but it was something.
