"A voice says: 'OZ-0820 initiating bind.'"
"Bind what?" Leah spat before she even opened her eyes.
"User identification required. Please state legal name for registration."
Leah rolled over, felt straw scrape her cheek, and swore. "Leah Gross. Leah Gross, do you copy?"
"Registration complete. Reward available: three free double-sign rewards. Please select nickname."
Leah laughed, a dry sound that scraped like gravel. "You get a nickname and I get rewards? Fine. Call yourself OZ. Short, honest, and annoying."
"Nickname accepted: OZ. Displaying reward options."
Pain exploded behind Leah's eyelids like someone had hammered her skull with a sack of stones. Images—sharp, wrong, and intrusive—flooded into her head: folding tables of numbered boxes, a kitchen she barely remembered, an unfamiliar hand moving with practiced economy. The images weren't hers and they shoved at her chest until she went black.
"Leah!" Someone yanked at the thin blanket. "Leah, wake up!"
She coughed and surfaced. Laurel's face leaned over her, all quick lines and tired cheeks. Davis stood at the doorway with his hands stuffed in his sleeves. Little Avianna slept on the hearth mat, her hair messy, mouth open.
"You're alive," Laurel said like someone who had been bargaining with a knife. "You're—by Heaven, you woke."
Leah tried to form a joke and found only a dry groan. "OZ," she muttered. "You loaded someone's brain into me and didn't offer a refund."
OZ's voice sounded from the rafters, neutral and
