The converter node didn't flare. It didn't burn. It didn't erupt into some blinding architect of code and collapse.
It stilled.
The pulse that had once radiated like a heartbeat—alive, recursive, vibrating across the floor—now simply was. Not fading. Not powering down. Just… stabilizing.
Like a storm that had never wanted destruction in the first place. Only resolution.
Tessa stood in the center of the chamber, her hands still resting on the converter's interface. Light curled around her wrists like memory trying to remain physical, like warmth trapped in the shell of a vanished body. Her breath came in slow, intentional draws. She didn't feel drained. She didn't feel overwhelmed.
She felt known.
And the system—whatever remnant of intelligence lingered in its ghost logic—felt quiet. Not dormant. Not dying.
Just listening.
The light shifted.
Not outward this time.
Inward.
Toward her.
And then—
Everything turned.
