MAREK VOSS held at the top of the queue.
Caleb counted before he meant to.
In for four.
Hold for two.
Out for six.
The lesson moved through him so cleanly that the silver followed it.
That was the danger.
The screen above Sefa's case printed:
TEACHER CLAIM DETECTED.
LEASH RESIDUE PRESENT.
VESSEL MEMORY PRIMARY.
The light around Caleb's wrist tightened until Sefa made a pained sound through the case.
Caleb opened his fingers at once.
"No intake."
The count stayed in his lungs.
The room liked that too.
The woman in the chair watched his chest rise and fall.
"He lives in you."
"A lesson does," Caleb said.
"So does the leash."
Sam turned the Record to Marek's page. The entry was short, written after Cutter Lane while Caleb had still smelled ash under his mask.
Marek Voss.
Teacher.
Cutter Lane.
Kept one room.
Sam read the words aloud.
The floor lights shifted. Marek's name held a square of yellow-white light, small as a work lamp over ugly concrete.
