There was no gravity in this place—only momentum guided by thought.

Hale moved through the storm of light, the network surrounding him in spirals of motion that responded not to physics but to will. Every spark that passed him carried sound: fragments of language, memories, whispers of countless lives once connected to this grid.

He reached forward, and the current bent toward him, forming pathways of pure code that shimmered like rain caught in sunlight. Somewhere ahead, a faint pulse ...