Ekko had been staring at the same page in his sketchbook for what felt like hours, eyes fixed on the rough lines of an invention he hadn’t yet found the headspace to refine. The idea was there—half-formed, twitching beneath the paper like something trying to wake up—but the clarity wouldn’t come.

Sunlight spilled through the tall bay windows of his studio, golden and warm, stretching long across the floor. It was the perfect time to work. Quiet. Still. The world wasn’t awake yet. But his thoughts were a mess of static.

It was always easier with her. Her voice grounded him, cut through the noise. Her presence turned chaos into current.

His fingers tapped a restless rhythm against the desk—an uneven, pulsing thump that matched the beat of his impatience. He had a framework, a spark of something good, but the constant hum of Silco-versus-Firelight tension scrambled his focus, made it hard to breathe, let alone build.

With a sharp exhale, he tossed his head back and muttered through clenched teeth, “God damn it.”