Cold Room — University Logic Wing The air bites at Ivanna’s skin, the sterile chill clinging to her like a second layer. The Logic Wing wasn’t a lab — by design, it avoided anything that looked like experimentation. Here, they claimed, “reason ruled over risk,” a rule meant to keep students with extraordinary powers from breaking under pressure. But right now, it felt less like a safe zone and more like a prison.

Her breath fogs in front of her. She wipes her face with a trembling hand and it comes away streaked in black. Thick, inky tears drip from her chin, staining the pale floor tiles. She remembers the look in Amie’s eyes the night before, when she’d described her vision — this exact moment.

Ivanna’s chest tightens. No phone. No one nearby. No idea what’s happening to her.

She curls her fingers into fists, trying to keep her breathing even. Don’t panic. Don’t let anyone see. Just… think.

The only name she can push through the fear is Amie. She closes her eyes, pushing every thought toward her — hoping that somewhere, somehow, Amie will hear her.

“Amie… please…” her voice is almost a whisper, raw, breaking. A tear slides down, warm at first, then cold against her skin.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she senses a faint connection. Thin. Fragile. But there.