## Chapter Eight: The Static in the Snow
The morning was too quiet. Calla woke not to the sound of birds or the wind, but to a high-pitched whine that existed only in the back of her skull. It was a sound she hadn't heard since her days at the Academy—the "white noise" of a neural-scrambler.
She bolted upright, her heart hammering. The fire had burned down to white ash, and the cabin was draped in the blue, pre-dawn light. Beside her, Elias was still asleep, his face relaxed in a way that made him look like the boy he used to be.
"Elias," she hissed, shaking his shoulder. "Elias, wake up. Something's wrong."
He groaned, blinking awake. "What? Is it the fire?"
"Listen," she whispered, pointing to the ceiling.
Elias frowned, then his eyes went wide. He felt it too—not as a sound, but as a pressure against his temples. "A dampening field. They're here."
He scrambled to the window, staying low. Outside, the pristine white snow was being churned up by the rotors of a silent-flight drone hovering just above the treeline. Beyond it, two black SUVs were navigating the narrow mountain pass, their headlights cut to keep them invisible in the dark.
"Vane," Elias spat, his voice full of cold fury. "He didn't even wait for the scandal to break. He's already hunting."
"How did they find us?" Calla asked, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. "You said the satellite coverage was dead here."
Elias looked at her, his expression a mix of horror and realization. He reached out, his fingers hovering near her temple. "The Emitter. When you hit that broadcast button, you didn't just send a file. You turned your own neural pathways into a beacon. You're still vibrating at the Thorne frequency, Calla. You're a living GPS."
### The Broken Shield
The cabin door shuddered under a massive impact.
"Thorne! Open the door!" a voice boomed—not Julian Vane's, but the cold, mechanical tone of a Retrieval Team leader. "We have a court-ordered 'Mental Health Custody' warrant. Don't make us use the gas."
"Court-ordered?" Calla whispered. "They're using the law to kidnap you?"
"My father wrote the laws in this city," Elias said, grabbing a heavy iron poker from the fireplace. "To the world, I'm a broken man who just had a psychotic break at a gala. They'll take me to a 'private clinic,' and I'll never be seen again."
He turned to her, his eyes desperate. "You have to run, Calla. The back cellar leads to a drainage pipe. It comes out half a mile down the ridge. If you leave now, you can make it to the Ranger station."
"I'm not leaving you," she said, her voice hard. "I'm the reason they found us. I'm the one who's 'vibrating,' remember? If I run, I just lead them right to me anyway."
She closed her eyes, trying to find the "Void" where her powers used to be. She reached into the silence, searching for any scrap of the Remover she had been. There was nothing—no colors, no Echoes. But then, she felt the "Static."
It was the scrambler. The Retrieval Team was using a device to numbing the area so Elias couldn't fight back with his own newly-restored mind. To a normal person, it was a headache. To a former Remover, it was an energy source.
"I can't absorb Echoes anymore," Calla whispered, her eyes snapping open. They weren't glowing, but they were sharp. "But I can still absorb *energy*."
### The Feedback Loop
The front door splintered. Two men in tactical gear, wearing neural-shielded helmets, stepped into the room. They held "Stun-Prods"—devices designed to reset a person's nervous system.
"Mr. Thorne, please step away from the woman," the lead officer said.
Elias stepped forward, the iron poker held like a sword. "Touch her and you'll find out exactly how much 'rage' my father left in my system."
The officer sighed and raised a small, silver remote. He pressed a button, and the high-pitched whine in the room intensified. Elias dropped to his knees, clutching his head, a scream caught in his throat. The scrambler was designed to target the Thorne "signature."
Calla felt the wave of agony hitting Elias, and something inside her snapped. She didn't have her "filter" anymore, which meant there was nothing to stop the energy from rushing in.
She lunged forward, not at the men, but at the scrambler device sitting on the lead officer's belt. She grabbed his arm, her skin making contact with the metal casing.
Instantly, the world turned into a strobe light of white and grey. Calla wasn't absorbing a memory; she was absorbing a **raw broadcast**. It felt like her veins were being filled with liquid electricity. Her hair stood on end, and a faint blue glow began to hum around her fingertips.
"What is she doing?" the second officer shouted, reaching for her.
"She's grounding the signal!" the leader yelled, trying to shake her off.
Calla didn't let go. She became a lightning rod. She channeled the entire dampening field through her own body and shoved it back out. She focused all that static, all that pain, and projected it directly at the neural-shields of their helmets.
The helmets weren't designed to handle a "Remover" acting as an amplifier.
With a series of loud, electronic pops, the soldiers' visors shattered. They fell back, clutching their ears as the feedback they had sent out returned to them tenfold.
Calla collapsed, the blue glow fading from her skin. She was shivering violently, her nerves on fire.
Elias crawled toward her, the pressure in his head finally lifting. He grabbed the lead officer's fallen stun-prod and disabled it, then pulled Calla into his lap.
"Calla! Calla, breathe!"
She opened her eyes. They were bloodshot, and she had a nosebleed that stained her wool coat, but she was smiling.
"I told you," she whispered, her voice a ghost of itself. "I'm... not... fragile."
### The Escape
They didn't have much time. The men were down, but the SUVs outside were still active.
Elias didn't hesitate. He carried Calla to the back cellar, just as he had promised, but he didn't send her through the pipe alone. He tucked her into the small, hidden crawlspace and followed her through.
They emerged on the ridge, the snow falling heavily now, masking their tracks. Below them, they could see more lights approaching the cabin. Vane had sent an army.
"We have to go higher," Elias said, his arm wrapped firmly around her. "The old mining tunnels. They're lead-lined. It'll block your signal."
Calla leaned against him, her body still buzzing with the aftershocks of the electricity. She had found a new way to fight, but it had cost her. She could feel her own memories—her childhood, her mother's face, her first day at the Academy—beginning to blur at the edges.
Every time she "grounded" a signal, she lost a piece of herself.
She looked at Elias, whose face was set in a mask of grim determination. He didn't know the price she was paying. He just knew they were alive.
As they disappeared into the dark mouth of the mine, Calla made a silent vow. She would save him, even if there was nothing left of Calla Vance by the time they reached the end of the mountain.