You slammed your hands on Thorne’s desk, breasts bouncing with the motion. “Fix me. Now.”

 

He stared at you like a scientist watching a particularly loud experiment. “Pandora was not meant to be cycled this rapidly.”

 

“I don’t care!” you snapped. “Turn it back on!”

 

He sighed, muttering under his breath. Then his long fingers danced over the console. Pandora’s coils reawakened, buzzing with green fire.

 

“Step inside,” he said. “But do not blame me for what follows.”

 

You climbed into the chamber, every nerve on edge. The hum grew into a roar. Light wrapped around your body, squeezing, reshaping—

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September 4, 2025
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