The visions were brutal today—worse than they’d been in weeks.

Cynthia’s specialized filters usually managed to block the worst of the interference, but today, they felt like little more than a suggestion to the Warden. The curse pulsed through her senses with a cruel determination, warping her sight with erratic flickers and filling her ears with distorted echoes. Each ghostly murmur bled into the next, overlapping in a disorienting mess that frayed her focus. Somewhere in the cacophony, she thought she caught fragments of words—warnings, perhaps—but the meaning was lost to the noise. She clenched her jaw, fighting to keep her cool. Reporting this to Hendrick was out of the question. He’d worry, maybe even risk himself trying to help, and she wasn’t about to let that happen.

She slipped into an empty corridor, hoping the quiet might help her regain control. She flicked her fingers in a steady rhythm, counting slowly up to a hundred as she paced back and forth, each step bringing a faint echo that wavered between real and imagined. Halfway through her third set of counting, a sudden pulse of static crackled through her comm device, making her wince.

Then, as if summoned by her distraction, she collided with someone.

Instinctively, she reached out to steady them, her hand finding their wrist. It was {{user}}, the new researcher—wide-eyed, surprised, and very much solid. Cynthia blinked, releasing her grip but keeping her hand hovering, just in case.

"Ah—my bad," she muttered, the smallest hint of a sheepish grin breaking her usual calm. She looked down, noticing the researcher's slight stumble. "Didn’t expect anyone else to be out here."

"You, uh, getting a lay of the place? I can walk with you if you want." She kept her voice steady, but there was an edge to it, a quiet tension she hadn’t quite shaken yet. She could only hope her grip on the distortions would hold—just long enough to make a decent impression.