The acrid smell of burnt ozone lingered in the command chamber of the Bloodletter, mixing with the metallic tang of fresh blood that seemed to perpetually stain the ship's corridors. Through the reinforced viewport, reality warped and twisted like a dying animal—chunks of space-time folding in on themselves while the Void Feeders prowled the edges of existence, their forms barely visible as writhing shadows that made the eye water to look upon.
Lyralei pressed her palm against the cold metal wall, feeling the vibrations of the ship's struggling engines through her now-mortal bones. Every sensation was amplified without her supernatural buffer—the ache in her joints, the weight of exhaustion, the gnawing hunger that had become her constant companion. But it was the weight of Reed's gaze that pressed heaviest upon her.
