Chapter 7: The Voice Without a Face

The first thing Ty learned about the voice was that it did not come when called.

It came when he was quiet enough to listen.

The second thing he learned was that it did not care whether he was ready.

It happened just before dawn.

The ship was still asleep, the hallways outside Ty’s cabin hushed except for the low murmur of engines cutting steadily through dark water. Ty lay awake on the narrow bed, one arm folded behind his head, the other resting near his wrist where the mark lay hidden beneath his sleeve.

Ann slept in the cabin across the hall, finally worn down by exhaustion after hours of talking, thinking, and trying to pretend that life still fit inside normal boundaries.

Ty stared at the ceiling.

He had always believed that if something truly extraordinary happened, it would feel ... bigger. Louder. More dramatic.

Instead, this felt like standing on the edge of a cliff in silence.

The mark on his wrist tingled—not sharply, not painfully. Just enough to pull his attention inward.

Then the presence returned.

Not as sound.

As clarity.

“You are awake.”

Ty didn’t move. He didn’t speak out loud.

I never really sleep anymore, he thought.

There was no answer to that. Only the same calm awareness that had spoken in the ruins—neither kind nor cruel. Simply ... there.

“You are afraid,” the voice said.

Ty exhaled slowly through his nose. Yeah. I am.