The sky above the lower Omniplane rippled like thin glass. Adam stood alone, high over a field of silent stars. His coat billowed slightly, though there was no wind. Not here. Not in this half-space where even sound thought twice before speaking.
He had felt it.
A pulse.
Wrong. Ugly. Familiar.
Something had shifted. Bent sideways.
He closed his eyes.
And sighed.
"That bastard," he muttered. "He really did it."
His fingers flexed once at his side. "Built it. Out of them."
He looked up. The stars didn't look right anymore. Like they were remembering something painful.
"The whole damn omniverse," he said quietly. "And he thinks I'm the risk."
He stood there for a moment longer, like a man choosing whether to walk through a door he'd sworn never to open again.
Then he vanished.
No flash. No sound.
Just gone.
The moment Adam stepped into the fracture, he felt it.
Weight.
Like someone had compressed a galaxy and stuffed it into a glass jar.
