The corridor outside Lina's room was empty.
Arin stood with his back against the wall, his torn jacket still folded over his arm, the sword still sheathed across his back. He hadn't moved since Adanna closed the door. Hana stood beside him, her shoulder almost touching his. Maya sat on a bench across the hall, her kit open on her lap, her hands still.
Ren stood by the window at the end of the corridor, watching the grey sky. Dmitri was beside him, his metal arms folded, his eyes fixed on nothing.
They waited.
The door opened after an hour.
Adanna stepped out, her face pale, her eyes tired. She closed the door behind her and leaned against the wall.
"Well?" Arin's voice was tight.
She looked at him.
"She's stable. The gap is still there, but it hasn't grown. She's holding her own."
"Can you close it?"
Adanna was quiet for a moment. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.
"I don't know yet. I need to run more tests. I need to understand what they put into her before I can figure out how to take it out."
"They didn't put anything in," Hana said. "They took something out."
Adanna looked at her.
"Are you sure?"
Hana nodded. "I felt it. When we found her. There was a gap where something used to be. Not a presence. An absence."
Adanna studied her for a long moment.
"You're psionic."
"Yes."
"How strong?"
Hana hesitated. "Strong enough to feel her from across the city. Strong enough to know she was still alive when no one else could."
Adanna's eyes widened slightly. Then she nodded.
"You'll help me."
"With what?"
"With the examination. I need someone who can see what I can't. The monitors show me her vitals. The scans show me her brain activity. But the gap—" She touched her chest. "I can only see it when I'm close. You can feel it from a distance."
Hana looked at Arin.
He nodded.
"I'll help," Hana said.
They went back inside.
Arin tried to follow, but Adanna stopped him at the door.
"Not yet."
"She's my sister."
"I know." Adanna's voice was soft but firm. "But right now, you're a distraction. She can feel you when you're in the room. Her heartbeat changes. Her breathing changes. She knows you're there."
Arin's chest tightened.
"Is that bad?"
"No. But it makes it harder for me to see what I need to see." She paused. "Let me work. I'll call you when I'm ready."
The door closed.
Arin stood in the corridor, his hands empty, his chest heavy.
Hana sat in the chair beside Lina's bed. Adanna stood on the other side, a small scanner in her hand, its screen glowing with lines and numbers Arin would not have understood.
"Tell me what you feel," Adanna said.
Hana closed her eyes. Her hands rested on her knees, her palms up.
"She's there," she said slowly. "I can feel her. Faint, but there."
"And the gap?"
Hana was quiet for a moment. Her brow furrowed.
"It's like a room," she said. "A room with a wall missing. Everything inside is still there. The furniture. The lights. The air. But one wall is gone, and through it, there's nothing. Just dark."
"Can you see what's on the other side?"
Hana shook her head. "Just the dark."
Adanna made a note on her scanner. "That's what I thought."
She moved to the head of the bed, placed her hand on Lina's forehead. Her eyes closed.
"The people who took her," she said. "They've been doing this for a long time. Refining their process. Testing different methods. Different subjects."
"How do you know?" Hana asked.
"Because I've seen the survivors." Adanna opened her eyes. "The ones who came back. The ones who woke up." Her voice dropped. "Some of them had gaps like hers. Smaller. Shallower. But the same shape."
"What happened to them?"
Adanna was quiet for a moment.
"Some of them healed. The gaps closed on their own. Others—" She stopped.
"Others what?"
"Others stayed open. They learned to live with the empty space. But they were never the same. They couldn't feel things the way they used to. Couldn't connect. Couldn't love."
She looked at Lina's face.
"Your sister is different. Her gap isn't closing, but it's not growing either. She's holding it in place. Fighting it."
"Why?" Hana asked.
Adanna looked at the door. At the silhouette of Arin standing on the other side.
"Because she has something to hold on to."
The door opened an hour later.
Adanna stepped out, Hana behind her. Both of them looked exhausted.
Arin pushed off the wall.
"What did you find?"
Adanna met his eyes.
"I can help her. But it's going to take time. And I need to know more about what was done to her. The injections. The fluid. The wires." She paused. "The people who took her—they knew what they were doing. They've done this before. Many times."
"We know," Arin said. "We saw the tanks."
Adanna's face tightened.
"Then you know what we're dealing with."
She looked back at the door.
"I'll stay with her tonight. Start the first treatment in the morning."
"What kind of treatment?"
"Something I developed years ago. Before I lost everything." Her voice was tired. "It doesn't always work. But it's the only thing I have."
Arin looked at the door. At the small window that showed Lina's still form.
"Do it."
That night, Arin sat in the corridor.
His back was against the wall, his knees drawn up, his hands resting on them. The sword was still on his back. He hadn't taken it off. He wasn't sure he could.
The facility was quiet. The lights were low. The only sound was the distant hum of machines.
Hana found him there.
She sat beside him, close enough that her shoulder touched his.
"You should eat something."
"Not hungry."
"You said that last time."
"I meant it last time too."
She was quiet for a moment.
"Adanna knows what she's doing."
"I know."
"Then why are you sitting here like you're waiting for something to go wrong?"
He didn't answer.
She leaned her head against his shoulder.
"She's going to wake up, Arin."
"You don't know that."
"No." Her voice was soft. "But I believe it."
He didn't respond. He just sat there, his eyes on the door, his hand on the crystal at his neck.
It was warm.
It was still warm.