The storm had passed, but its residue remained. Jack and Emma stood by the doorway long after the Messenger had disappeared. The apartment, once a modern haven of glass and steel, now felt hollow—as if it had swallowed something that refused to be digested. The wine glasses were intact. The lights hummed softly. Everything had returned to normal, and yet nothing felt normal.

Emma was the first to move. She shut the door quietly, locking the bolts one by one, as if they could keep the ...