Chapter 22 · Thirty Seconds Dead

"Maya! Stay with me! Do not you dare close your eyes!" Pip's voice wasn't coming from the plush anymore. It was screaming inside my skull, raw and distorted, like a radio tuned to a dying star.

I couldn't answer. I couldn't even breathe. The moment the chip slid into my chest, the world didn't just go dark—it vanished. There was no floor, no ceiling, no smell of ozone or blood. Just a crushing, absolute void and the sound of my own heart stopping with a wet, final thud.

"Listen to my voice, you stubborn brat!" Pip yelled. "I can feel your pulse flatlining. If you drift now, you're not coming back. Fight it!"

I tried. I really did. But it felt like I was floating in a sea of black ink, and every time I reached for a memory—the grime of the Underbelly, the smell of Jax's cheap cigars, the weight of my courier bag—the ink swallowed it whole. I was slipping. The silence was starting to feel... comfortable.

"Don't you dare get comfortable!" Pip’s voice snapped, sharper now. "You still owe me for that ruined fabric on my left arm.