DEVON’S POVMy finger hovers on the trigger. Just a few ounces of pressure, and this ends.But I can’t.Ez’s eyes catch the emergency lighting like shattered glass catching fire and each shard reflecting red, each pupil split into precise, unnatural geometry. A design no human body should carry. And yet, past the alien fracture, I still see the kid who hauled me out of that Devourer snare on Europa Station.Still the kid who slid me half his last ration pack when we were pinned down for 3 days. “Devon.”Dr. Aveline’s voice slices through my hesitation. Not sharp enough to cut it clean, but enough to remind me she’s watching.“What’s your assessment?”Assessment. Sure. Like this is some neat little briefing over coffee instead of me aiming a rifle at my friend’s face.The flicker of the red emergency lights tugs me somewhere else. Dad’s workshop, back on the farm before the war. Lantern glow spilling over half-finished repairs on the workbench. The hiss of rain on the barn roof.

KIRA’S POV“I’ve got it.”The words scrape out of me before I realize I’ve said them. My hands blur across the holographic interface, code cascading in tight green rivers. Every keystroke feels like I’m threading a needle in a hurricane.On the floor, Ezren jerks like someone’s shoving live current through his veins.“Got what?” Devon doesn’t glance away from him, rifle steady, safety off.“A fix,” I say, breath shallow. “Shields are glitching because the collective’s feeding them garbage data through Ez’s link.” My thumb hammers the deploy key. “This patch cuts the cord.”A set of progress bars crawls into existence. Not fast enough. Never fast enough.“How long till the next probe wave?” My voice comes out tighter than I want.“Three minutes,” Devon says. “Maybe less.”“This better work, Kira,” Dr. Aveline mutters, pacing behind me like a caged predator. “We don’t get second chances.”“It’ll work.” Thirty-seven percent. The numbers pulse like a heartbeat. “It’s clean. Elegant. Think

The voice doesn’t just echo. It sears through me, a brand on every nerve:YOU CARRY OUR MARK. POWER AWAKENS AT YOUR COMMAND.I flex my fingers. The air bends between them, thin threads of light snapping and curling, not electricity but something rawer, like thought made visible.“Ezren…” Kira’s voice drifts in like she’s speaking through water. “Your eyes…”My tongue feels heavy. “What about them?” But I already know. The collective shows me through surveillance feeds. My pupils have become perfect spirals of light, fractal patterns that pulse with each heartbeat like they’re alive. “They’re…” Aveline can’t stop staring. Her whisper is half-awe, half-fear. “Beautiful. And terrifying.”Devon doesn’t waver. His rifle tracks me like I’m already a target. “That’s not human anymore.”“I’m still me.” The words fall out brittle, like glass that could shatter either way. “Just… more.”“Expanded how?” Kira inches closer, her fear leaking through but her curiosity is stronger. “What can you d

EZREN’S POVThe spotlights burn through the clinic windows like accusing fingers. I approach the glass, watching armored vehicles arrange themselves with military precision.“They want to study me? Let them try.”“Ez, get away from the window,” Kira’s voice is tight, already braced for the gunfire she thinks is coming.But I can’t move. Through the collective’s connection, I’m seeing what they see; simultaneous landings across the globe, viewed through a thousand human eyes.Show them, the collective whispers. Show them what we truly are.“It’s everywhere,” I breathe. “The landings. They’re not… attacks.”Devon’s chair screeches against the tile as he whirls. “Not attacks? Ezren, there are tanks outside…”“Look.” My palm flattens to the glass, and the clinic’s dark monitors flare awake, hijacked by whatever current runs through me now. The collective’s perspective is shared through my touch.A small park in Stockholm appears on the monitors. One of the beings, tall, elegant, with fr

DEVON’S POVThe safe house smells like coffee and nerves ground fine.Three levels down, past a rusted gate and through a maintenance tunnel that hasn’t seen a commuter train in twenty years.No map lists this place. No records. It’s a hole in the world carved by people who know sometimes survival means vanishing completely.“Welcome to the mesh,” Maya says, keying in the final lock.She’s lean, all elbows and scars, with eyes that measure and cut. “Population: fourteen. Heat level: moderate. House rules—no phones, no wireless, no signals. You light up the grid, you don’t stay.”I take in the main room. Divided by scavenged panels and blankets, people hunched over makeshift stations, soldering circuits, grinding gun parts, stitching documents that look damn near official.They glance up, wary but not curious. Survivors don’t waste curiosity.“How long has this been running?” Kira asks, trying for conversational, though her fingers never stray far from Ezren’s arm.“Two years,” says So