It was a cold day. Too cold for spring. Winter clung to the earth, refusing to let go as if conspiring to smother any hope of warmth. Every morning felt like a battle between the seasons, and today was no different.


    Even now, on my way to the small river on the outskirts of town, I suppressed a shiver. My backpack, heavy with new camping gear and supplies, dug into my shoulders as I adjusted my grip.


    "I will never get used to this bone-chilling cold," I muttered, my breath forming small clouds in the air. I couldn''t help but miss the warmth of my childhood in South Africa.


    I get why the Dutch settlers abandoned this place! I shook my head and called out, "Hey, Elias, you here, man?"


    "Always," came the reply.


    I spotted Elias standing near the water, his usual composed self. He eyed my load with a raised brow. "What''s with all the luggage? You moving in with me?"


    I scoffed. "I would literally die. I don’t know how you do it. This stuff’s for you. The weather report looks brutal, apparently this week’s going to be the coldest of the season."


    I pulled off a tent-bag and handed it to him. "This is a new one. The guy at the store swore it’s the best for keeping warm. Said you could camp in the Alps with this tent and still sleep snug."


    Next, I handed over another bag. "Last week’s laundry, plus some extra hoodies and thermal wear, you know, sticking with the whole ''Alps explorer'' theme," I added with a laugh. "Seriously, who voluntarily goes somewhere even colder than this?"


    I handed over the last pack again. "Food supplies, extra gas canisters for your stove, and, most importantly, lunch!" I lifted the KFC takeaway bag with a grin.


    Elias took the bags, a puzzled look on his face. "Why?" he asked quietly.


    I shrugged. "Dude, why not? I spent most of my twenties and early thirties struggling. Then one lucky break changed everything for the better. That’s all you need, a lucky break."


    As Elias took the bags, I watched his expression, that familiar quietness settling over him. It made me think back to the first time we met, two years ago.


    I had brought my daughters out to fish at this very river. It was the perfect spot, far enough from civilization to feel like an escape, but close enough to home to be convenient. Just a quiet place where we could breathe, where the world and its noise couldn’t reach us.


    Not that my girls were interested in peace and quiet.


    I sat on a fallen log, keeping watch as they giggled and splashed around, their rods baited with hookless lures. Not that it mattered, honestly, even if the lures had hooks, it would’ve taken a miracle for them to catch anything with all the ruckus they made. But I wasn’t here to be a sport fisherman. I was here so they could have fun, and that was exactly what they were doing.


    That’s when I saw him.


    He was sitting on the riverbank, his clothes worn and tattered, staring at the water as if waiting for it to swallow him whole. Something about the look in his eyes made me stop. It wasn’t just exhaustion, it was something deeper, something hollow.


    I didn’t know why, but I felt the urge to talk to him. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, I walked over and struck up a conversation.


    He told me his name was Elias and that he lived out here, deep in the woods near the river. He said it like it was just a fact, like it didn’t matter. But the way he said it, the hopelessness in his voice, stuck with me.


    I didn’t push for details. Instead, I did the only thing that made sense. I sat down, unpacked our lunch, and shared it with him. He barely said a word, just nodded his thanks as he ate. Before we left, I gave him my jacket and all the food we hadn’t finished.


    That evening, long after I had dropped my daughters off at home, I found myself driving back. I couldn’t shake the thought of him out there, alone, with nothing but the cold creeping in. So I came back with a tent, a sleeping bag, warm clothes, and some basic camping gear and food.


    That was the first time.


    Since then, I made it a habit to visit him at least once a week. Sometimes I’d bring supplies, sometimes just a meal and some company. I never asked him about his past, and he never offered. Maybe that was our unspoken agreement, he would humor me with light conversation, and I wouldn’t ask him why he was out here in the first place.


    Elias grabbed our two camping chairs and set them up while I dropped my backpack onto the ground with a sigh. He eyed me curiously.


    "Not fishing today?"


    I smirked. "Oh, I’m fishing, just not for fish."


    His brow furrowed in confusion, but when I pulled a thick rope from my bag, coiled around a heavy metal disk, his entire demeanor shifted. His posture stiffened, eyes locked onto the magnet like it was the most important thing in the world.


    "Is that… a magnet?" His voice was sharper than I expected, almost urgent.


    "Yeah," I said, taken aback by his reaction. "Remember when we talked about magnet fishing last time? I finally bought one." I let out a short laugh. "Actually, I bought two. The first one is still stuck to a metal support in my garage ceiling. Can’t get the stupid thing down. Turns out, once these things latch onto something, they don’t let go."


    Elias barely reacted. His gaze was still fixed on the magnet, his fingers gripping the armrests of his chair.


    "So, uh, I had two choices," I continued, trying to shake off the weird vibe. "Buy a ladder or buy a new magnet. Guess which one I went with?"


    Elias didn’t answer right away. "New magnet," he murmured absently, as if his mind was elsewhere.


    "Yep. My wife thought it was hilarious. She laughed for five minutes straight. Oh, speaking of her, she told me to say hello. She and the kids are in Germany for the week, visiting family."


    "Yeah, yeah, that’s great," Elias said quickly, waving it off. He sat forward, eyes burning with an intensity I wasn’t used to seeing from him. "You brought it to fish here? You’re actually gonna use it?"


    I hesitated. "Uh… yeah. I figured I’d give it a shot. See what’s lurking under the water. Maybe pull up some junk, maybe find something cool…"


    "Or something important," Elias cut in.


    That caught me off guard. His knuckles were white where he gripped his chair.


    I frowned. "Something important?"


    Elias blinked, as if realizing he’d said too much. He sat back, forcing a more neutral expression. "I just mean… you never know what’s down there. Could be anything."


    I studied him for a moment, but let it slide. Instead, I smirked and gave the rope an experimental tug. "Yeah… I’ll wager it’ll be at least ten bicycles, seeing as this is the Netherlands."


    Elias let out a short laugh, but there was something strained about it. His eyes flickered back to the river, his fingers tapping restlessly on his knee.


    Whatever he was hoping to find, it wasn’t a bicycle.


    By the time I fished out my fourth bicycle, I had officially declared myself a full-time junk collector. The haul so far: four rusted-out bikes, an old microwave, a knife I really hoped wasn’t a murder weapon, and, probably my best find, a beautifully tarnished antique copper kettle.


    That last one seemed to change something in Elias. The moment I pulled it up, he let out a breath like he’d been holding it in for years. He looked… relieved. Hopeful, even. I didn’t press him on it, but whatever was weighing him down before seemed to ease after that.


    Now, as I sat inspecting the kettle, trying to rub away the years of grime, Elias had wandered off to make coffee, his coffee. The kind that put fancy cafés to shame.


    A few minutes later, he returned and handed me a steaming cup, rich and fragrant, the unmistakable sweetness of condensed milk cutting through the bitter aroma. I set the kettle between my feet and took the cup with a grateful nod.


    "Hey, Elias," I started, blowing on my coffee. "I told you my wife and girls are out for the week, right? Why don’t you come stay with me? Take a proper shower, sleep in a real bed for once." I glanced at him. "I also talked to a couple of friends. They’re willing to interview you for a few jobs."


    Elias let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "That’s just like you, Aco." He took a slow sip before adding, "I assume these friends of yours are people you’ve helped before, people who want to repay the favor you showed them."


    I huffed. "Nah, man. They’re just good people." I took a sip, savoring the warmth before looking him in the eye. "We all need a little help once in a while."


    Elias didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the steam rising from his cup, lost in thought.


    Elias suddenly shifted the conversation. "Aco, if you could do anything, and I mean anything, what would you do?"


    I leaned back in my chair, taking a thoughtful sip of coffee. "You mean like realistically, or more fantasy? Man, you know I’m a full-time gamer, sci-fi fantasy reader, and part-time human, right?" I raised an eyebrow. "I could rant and talk for hours about sci-fi, so you better be specific."


    He grinned, clearly enjoying the direction this was going.


    I thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, if we’re talking realistically, I think I’m okay. I have a beautiful wife that I love, and she loves me. Two amazing daughters who think I’m the funniest guy in the world. I’m comfortable, so I’m happy."


    Elias let out a short laugh. "Content in reality, huh? Then let’s say in fantasy, if you could live out any of your stories or games, what would it be?"


    I didn’t hesitate. "Easy. Explore the universe."


    Elias raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Explore it? What do you mean?"


    I leaned forward, my excitement bubbling over. "Not the boring universe we think we know. I’m talking about a universe filled with life, life that’s similar enough that it’s not completely alien, but just alien enough to make things interesting. It would be like whoever created it did it in a single brushstroke, broad enough to allow for amazing variations, but still the same basic paint and canvas, you know what I mean?"


    Elias nodded, listening intently, his smile growing as I got lost in the idea. "I’d love to visit different planets—planets where the flora and fauna have developed in completely unique ways. Like a planet with pink-leaved trees under a purple sky, reflecting purple in the water of the rivers. But still similar enough that it’s safe to breathe, because the life forms on the planet didn’t decide that oxygen just wasn’t their thing! And there should be so many different kinds of sentient and sapient life, you know? Almost like the Star Wars universe."


    I caught myself rambling, realizing Elias was just sitting there, amused. He chuckled.


    "You know," he said with a grin, "the galaxy might be like that."


    I let out a short laugh, feeling a little wistful. "Yeah..." I paused, my gaze drifting over the river. "And we’d never know."


    Elias muttered something under his breath, too quiet for me to catch. It sounded like, Not enough there to use, some, but not enough. Before I could ask, he spoke up, his tone more casual.


    "And what would you like to be in this new universe?"


    I leaned back in my chair, letting the question settle as I took a slow sip of coffee. "Limitless," I said finally. "I''d love to be limitless." I let the thought take root, letting my mind wander through the possibilities. No boundaries, no constraints, just, infinite potential.


    Elias started to smile. A knowing, almost eager look crossed his face. "Do me a favor," he said, leaning in slightly. "Say, I wish."


    I chuckled, shaking my head at the theatrics. "Yeah, yeah… I wish!"


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    The moment the words left my lips, the world seemed to stop. Not in the dramatic, earth-shattering way you’d expect, but in an eerily subtle way. The wind didn’t blow, the birds didn’t chirp, even the distant hum of the river seemed to hold its breath. It was like someone had dropped a pin, and the universe had paused to listen.


    Then, just as suddenly as it had happened, everything snapped back to normal. The wind picked up again, the river babbled like nothing had changed, and Elias sat there, still smiling.


    I frowned, looking around, a strange unease creeping in. "Okay…" I muttered, shaking off the weird sensation. "That was… odd."


    Elias didn’t seem fazed at all. If anything, he looked pleased.


    I took another sip of coffee, deciding to brush it off. "Anyway, it’s getting late. So, what about my proposal? You feeling up for some interviews?"


    Elias’s grin widened. "Sure, Aco. I’ll come with you. But only if we can keep this conversation going."


    Relief washed over me, and I nodded. "Sure," I said, cracking a small smile. "What do you want to know?"


    Elias tilted his head slightly, watching me with that familiar, amused curiosity. "And how would you explore the universe?"


    I grinned, feeling my excitement surge again. "Oh, don’t get me started! I’ve spent an absurd amount of time thinking about this!" I threw my hands up for emphasis. "But definitely a spaceship, or better yet, an armada!" I struck a dramatic pose, laughing.


    Elias chuckled, shaking his head as I grabbed my bag and started putting away my gear. "Alright, let’s get your stuff," I said, stowing my magnet and carefully tucking the kettle inside my bag.


    Then I paused.


    The kettle looked... different.


    I had fished it out of the river covered in grime and rust, but now, under the fading light, the copper gleamed like it had been freshly polished. I turned it over in my hands, running my fingers over the smooth surface. No dents. No tarnish. It looked brand new.


    I frowned. That didn’t make sense.


    "Let’s tidy up," I said, shaking off the thought. "Can’t just leave rusted bikes and junk lying around, begging for someone to break their neck."


    But when I looked up, everything was gone.


    The clearing, which had been cluttered with rusted bicycles, scrap metal, and all the debris I’d fished out, was now spotless. No chairs. No gear. No mess. Just Elias, standing there, dressed in clean clothes.


    I blinked. "What the hell… where did everything go?"


    "I put it all away," Elias said easily, his voice calm, almost amused. He gestured up the trail, as if none of this was remotely strange. "Come on, let’s go."


    I hesitated, scanning the area again. The river still flowed, the trees still rustled in the breeze, but something about the air felt different. Lighter.


    Elias smiled, not the tired, guarded expression I’d gotten used to, but something genuine. Something warm.


    And just like that, the unease faded. Whatever just happened, Elias seemed better, and that was enough for now.


    I sighed, shaking my head with a small chuckle. "You’re a weird guy, you know that?"


    He just grinned.


    I followed him up the trail toward my car, the kettle still weighing down my bag, lighter than before, and the night air suddenly feeling full of possibilities.


    We reached the car, and as I tossed my bag into the back seat, Elias turned to me with that same amused look he always got when he knew he was about to wind me up.


    “So, any preference on that ship and armada? Or is anything okay?”


    I scoffed. “No. Anything is not okay.”


    I knew that question was bait, and I took it anyway. He had no idea what he’d just unleashed.


    “Look, when you watch movies or play games, you accept a certain level of… let’s call it artistic liberty, right? Suspension of disbelief. But man, windows in space? What the hell! Who in their right mind thinks putting a glass canopy on a ship designed for battle in the vacuum of space is a good idea? You’re begging to get sucked into the void the moment someone sneezes in your direction with a railgun.”


    Elias chuckled as I climbed into the driver’s seat. He’d heard this rant before. We’d even brainstormed ways to fix the problem once, but I could tell he was enjoying himself.


    “And don’t even get me started on Star Wars ships,” I continued as I pulled onto the main road. “Like, okay, I get it, style over substance, but who thought it was a good idea to slap an exposed bridge on top of a giant metal wedge? You’re telling me they built a billion-credit war machine and left the command center sticking out like a giant middle finger? That’s not strategy; that’s a ‘please shoot here’ sign.”


    Elias raised a hand in surrender, laughing. “Alright, alright, no windows, no dumb bridges. So what do your ships look like?”


    Now we were talking.


    “Elegant. Armored. Shielded. No frills, no useless design choices, just pure function. Every corridor, every bulkhead lined with reinforced plating. The bridge? Buried deep within the ship, no giant glass viewports, just sleek, futuristic displays. Displays that provide a full tactical overlay, internal ship status, and, if you really need to see outside, a digital render of the surrounding space.”


    Elias nodded, clearly entertained. “And the crew?”


    “AI-operated, droid-maintained,” I said without hesitation. “Look, I love sci-fi, but this whole ‘ships need thousands of crew members’ nonsense has got to stop. It’s future tech. If I can run a fully automated factory today with robotics and AI, why the hell wouldn’t spaceships be the same? This is something Star Citizen and Elite Dangerous actually got right, small crews, maximum efficiency. Any ship, no matter how big, should be operable by a three-person crew at most.”


    I glanced over and saw Elias grinning. “You’ve really thought this through.”


    “Of course I have! I’m an engineer.” I gestured wildly before putting my hand back on the wheel. “You give me a sci-fi setting, I’ll give you a breakdown of why half of it is stupid and how I’d fix it.”


    Elias smirked. “Alright then, Mr. Engineer, what about weapons? What do space battles even look like in this hypothetical universe of yours?”


    Now, that was an interesting question.


    “Well, we’ve discussed this before, remember?” I said, tapping the steering wheel in thought. “If we’re talking semi-realistic combat, then first of all, no lasers.”


    Elias raised an eyebrow. “Yup. No lasers”


    “Because if you think about it,” I said, leaning forward slightly as I got into the details. “Lasers are cool in movies, but in reality? They make no damn sense. If you’re trying to melt armor, you first need to generate enough heat to burn through it, on your own ship. Then you have to transfer that heat through a beam of light, account for loss over distance, and hope the enemy stays perfectly still long enough for you to actually do any damage.”


    I shook my head. “And that’s not even the worst part. If I were designing warships, I’d absolutely include a system that dissipates heat across the hull or into heat sinks. Suddenly, your ‘deadly laser’ is just making my ship slightly warm. Congratulations, you’ve just given me free heating in space.”


    Elias chuckled. “So no lasers. What then?”


    I grinned. “Kinetics. Railguns, coilguns, guided munitions. Mass drivers. You want to take down a ship? Hit it with something that has momentum. A slug traveling at several kilometers per second doesn’t care about shields or fancy armor tricks, it just punches through.”


    Elias nodded, looking thoughtful. “And what about defenses?”


    I smirked. “That depends, are we going full hard sci-fi, or can I have some fun?”


    He spread his hands. “Go nuts.”


    “Oh, now we’re talking.”


    I tapped the steering wheel for emphasis. “Here’s the thing, looks and functionality go hand in hand. If we’re ditching lasers in favor of kinetic weapons, then space combat naturally shifts to closer ranges, at least, relatively speaking. Because think about it, if you fire a metal slug from a long distance at a ship with any decent futuristic sensor array, what’s it gonna do? Just move. Problem solved. You’d be wasting shots.”


    Elias nodded, following along.


    “Funny enough,” I continued, “this brings us right back to naval battles—both pirate-era and modern-day warfare. What do you do when long-range fire isn’t reliable? You close the distance. You launch fighters, bombers, and get close enough that the enemy can’t effectively dodge your shots. And then—” I slapped the steering wheel for emphasis, grinning. “BAM! Fire, launch missiles, maneuver.”


    Elias smirked. “Alright, I see where you’re going. So let’s say you’re the galaxy’s greatest strategist, and you’re almost right about everything. What do your ships actually look like?”


    I pointed at him. “That is the correct question.”


    I leaned back slightly, thinking it through as I drove. “Alright, assuming all these criteria, we build triangles. Thin, sleek, with all armaments concentrated along the knife-edge. Think Federal Corvette from Elite Dangerous. Or better yet, the Federal Battlecruiser Farragut.”


    I made a slicing motion with my hand. “Slanted hull plating, angled to deflect incoming high-velocity rounds instead of just tanking them. And, because fighters and missiles are a pain in the ass, we stick ridiculous amounts of point defense along the hull. Auto-tracking turrets, close-in weapon systems, anything that turns incoming threats into space debris before they even get close.”


    Elias chuckled. “So basically, you’d build an unstoppable death triangle.”


    I grinned. “Damn right I would.”


    We rolled up to a red light, and I took the opportunity to grab my phone, unlock it, and open my Notes app. Without a word, I handed it to Elias.


    “Here,” I said.


    He took the phone, glanced at the screen, and immediately burst out laughing. “Dude. This is… psychopathic levels of preparation.”


    I smirked. “Thank you.”


    His eyes scanned through the entries, his grin growing wider. “You actually have updated schematics of the Farragut and Federal Corvette in here. And concept designs for fighters, bombers, personnel carriers… You really thought of everything.”


    I shrugged, completely unashamed. “Of course. I knew this conversation would happen someday.”


    Elias shook his head, still chuckling. “Look at this ‘No windows.’ You even bolded it.”


    “Damn right I did,” I said, grinning. “Windows are a Death, and we’re not about that life.”


    He kept scrolling, but his expression shifted slightly as he spotted something else. “Wait… I thought you said your ships wouldn’t be manned. So why do you have calculations on housing capacity? Families, crew sizes, civilian populations,what’s this about?”


    I tapped the wheel idly. “Simple. While space battles are cool and all, eventually, you need boots on the ground. I don’t care what sci-fi movies say—glassing planets isn’t that easy. Hell, I’m assuming planetary shields exist in any reasonable setting.”


    Elias nodded, still looking over my notes. “You assume correctly, Aco von Hellsing.”


    I gestured with one hand, as if swatting the idea away. “And even if you could glass an entire planet… why would you? You’d end up with a dead, unusable hellscape. Millions—maybe trillions—wiped out, and for what? A radioactive rock? That’s some Scooby-Doo villain logic.” I scoffed. “Like, ‘I would have conquered this planet if it weren’t for those pesky survivors!’”


    Elias chuckled. “I mean… fair point.”


    He was quiet for a second, then added, “It looks like you’re planning for a 50/50 split between biological personnel and droids.”


    I laughed. “Hypothetically, yeah. You get the best of both worlds—the sheer firepower and expendability of droids, plus the adaptability and problem-solving skills of real people.” I paused, then gestured vaguely with one hand. “Assuming we’re using near-artificial intelligence—NAI, if you will—to operate the droids. All of them pre-programmed with tactical knowledge and rudimentary problem-solving.”


    Elias arched an eyebrow. “And without the desire for, you know, galactic domination and the extinction of all organic life?”


    “Exactly,” I said, laughing. “We’re keeping things functional, not suicidal.”


    Elias tilted his head slightly, like he was actually considering this for real. “Alright… but what about the AI controlling the ships? How do you plan on restricting it?”


    I grinned. “Restricting them, not it. And—no restrictions.”


    Elias blinked. “No restrictions?”


    I nodded, already prepared for the skepticism. “They wouldn’t be like human minds forced into a cage. They’d be grown, designed to be the ship. It’s not about control—it’s about symbiosis. The AI is the vessel. It’s not some rogue intelligence waiting to rebel—it wants to exist, to function, to live. The only semi-restriction would be a strong moral disposition to adhere to a defined command chain. Like how real people make sacrifices on the battlefield. Or how trained horses and service dogs obey commands—not because they’re forced, but because it’s ingrained in them.”


    Elias sat back, exhaling slowly. He was staring at the phone screen, but I could tell he wasn’t reading anymore. He was thinking.


    “You know,” he said after a moment, “this all sounds way too plausible.”


    I smirked. “Told you. Good sci-fi isn’t about making stuff up, t’s about figuring out how it would actually work.”


    We reached our building, and I grabbed my bags as we made our way inside. The elevator ride was quiet, just the hum of the machinery as we ascended to the ninth floor. A short walk later, I unlocked my apartment and pushed the door open. Elias stepped inside, glancing around before giving a small nod.


    “Smaller than I thought,” he said.


    I chuckled. “It’s enough for us. There’s the spare bedroom, yours to use, and that door leads to the bathroom. Feel free to try any of the uncountable soaps or shampoos in the shower.” I headed to the scullery, grabbed a small bag of toiletries, and handed them over. “New toothbrush and everything. You can keep that. Let me know if you need anything else.”


    He muttered a quiet thanks and disappeared down the hall while I collapsed onto the couch, exhaling. A few moments later, he walked back into the living room, his expression unreadable.


    “Aco,” he said, his voice strangely steady. “In all my life, you are the only person who treated me like a real person.”


    I frowned. “Don’t talk like that, man! You are a real person. You’re just down on your luck. And I guarantee you’ll land a job this week. Don’t stress about it.”


    He smiled slightly, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “I think I already found a ‘job,’” he said, making air quotes around the word.


    I blinked. “What?”


    But he didn’t answer. He just kept talking, as if he hadn’t even heard me.


    “I have served many masters, but you… you are the only worthy one. In all the years I have known you, I’ve realized something, you are both selfless and selfish. You serve others by serving yourself. You lead by example. You do for others what you would want done unto you.”


    A cold chill ran down my spine. Something about the way he spoke, so absolute, so sure, set off alarms in my head. “Elias, what the hell are you talking about?” I leaned forward. “Master…?”


    He ignored my question and pressed his hands together. When he pulled them apart, the air between them twisted, rippling like heat off asphalt. And then, smoke. No, not smoke, something more. A swirling void of cosmic dust, shimmering with entire galaxies, flickering with distant thunder and lightning.


    I barely had time to process it before the smoke vanished, leaving something in his hands. An arm brace.


    “I interpreted your wish a bit,” Elias said, almost casually. “Went off script. Improvised a lot. But that’s what you get for an open-ended wish.” He handed me the brace.


    I took it hesitantly, turning it over in my hands. It was sleek, metallic, futuristic, something straight out of a sci-fi movie. It looked like it would extend just shy of my elbow.


    “What… what the hell is this?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.


    Elias lowered himself onto the couch with unnerving composure, plucking the notepad and pen from the coffee table like he was settling in for a routine strategy session. He flipped to a blank page, completely unbothered by the impossible thing that had just happened.


    “Put it on,” Elias said, his voice quiet but absolute. “It will serve as your interface to fleet command. Now do as I say. Put. It. On. We have a lot of planning to do.”


    I stared at him, then down at the brace, my fingers tightening around it. It was impossibly smooth, its faint engravings catching the light in a way that made them seem almost alive.


    The moment stretched. My mind scrambled between logic and the undeniable fact that Elias had just conjured this thing out of nothing.


    Fleet command?


    That had to be a joke. A ridiculous, impossible joke. But Elias wasn’t laughing.


    My pulse pounded as I searched for a rational explanation. There was none. Not for the way he had summoned this thing. Not for the way he was looking at me, like the universe had just snapped into place, and I was the only one still pretending the ground wasn’t gone beneath me.


    I exhaled slowly.


    This was insane.


    But insanity had a gravity of its own.


    And I was already falling.


    Without another word, I slipped it on.