OBVERSE

The transport lifted off the cracked concrete of the maintenance shaft and rose in a thin plume of mist, the tunnel walls receding like a dark wound being pulled open. Outside, the wall of Harrow loomed, a ribbed scar of steel and concrete that had held back the Obverse for four years. The deck of the rescue lift jittered as the cables strained, then steadied, and the doors hissed open onto the dimly lit corridor of Division Nine.

Adrian stepped onto the deck, the last pulse of TERIN’s orb fading in his mind like a dying firefly. The air inside the base was cooler, the scent of metal and antiseptic sharp against his nose. A thin film of condensation clung to the visor of his suit, drawing faint rivulets across the glass. He could still feel the faint echo of the mirror‑protein humming through his bloodstream, a low thrum that tugged at the edge of his thoughts.

He was met by Dr. Ezra Holm, his white coat already damp with sweat despite the regulated temperature. Holm’s hands were gloved, fingers steady as they lifted a small, sealed vial from a tray of similar containers. The vial was marked with a silver strip of polymer, the label readable even through the visor’s glare: **MIRROR‑PROTEIN INJECTION – 3 ml**.

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