Evelyn’s descent through the fracture felt like falling through memory.

Each shard of light that drifted past carried fragments of the world before the collapse—faces, sounds, half-remembered laughter. Her own thoughts echoed back at her in distorted whispers, old versions of herself flickering and dying as she passed. The corridor twisted, then bent inward, pulling her toward the red pulse of the third anchor.

Here, the Echo grew darker.

The air—if it could be called that—was thick, ...