1.5 meters.That was the distance between a heartbeat and a stone grave.The chain yanked again, and this time, the mountain wasn’t just pulling; it was sentencing. The Shared Heat—that jagged needle of ice—ripped through my ribs, a cold, structural execution that made my lungs flatline. I went down hard. My knees struck the quartz—a dull, sickening thud as my vision strobed purple and black.Every breath was a struggle against the clinical vacuum. My nose was raw, filled with the stagnant scent of battery acid and old pennies, the metallic rot of a lie I had signed five years ago and was only now beginning to bleed for.I looked at the console. Ryan was hunched over the terminal, his fingers flying across the glass. For a split second, the screen flickered. A string of blood-red text—PROJECT L-14B—flashed and vanished. Ryan’s hand jerked, a 0.5-second stutter of pure, rationalized panic, before he swiped the log clear.He
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