Chapter 32 · The Reboot Morning

"Stop twitching, Vera. You're making me nauseous, and I don't even have a stomach," Echo's voice snapped inside my skull, sharp as a razor blade.

I didn't twitch. I surged.

My right arm blurred, a streak of chrome and matte black, slamming into the guard's jaw before he could even blink. The sound was a wet crack, like a dry branch snapping under a boot. He went down hard, his helmet clattering across the polished floor of the corridor.

"I'm not twitching," I spat, my voice rasping. "I'm calibrating."

"Calibrating my ass. You're fighting the link again," Echo retorted. I could feel him—not as a voice, but as a pressure at the base of my spine, a cold, electric hum that wanted to override my every nerve. "Just let go. Stop trying to steer. I've got the trajectory. We hit the next three in four seconds. Ready?"

I didn't have time to answer. He didn't wait.

Suddenly, my legs weren't mine. They moved with a terrifying, fluid precision, sliding me into a low crouch and launching me forward. It wasn't the laggy, stuttering mess from a week ago. This was seamless.