Jennifer arrived at Wilbur just after dawn, three days after she'd left Starseed with a promise to return. She knocked softly on his cabin door.
"It's open."
He was sitting on the edge of his bed, watching the door as if he'd known exactly when she'd arrive. That was new—that quality of anticipation.
"You look better," she said, and meant it. The gauntness from the hospital had eased. His eyes were clearer.
"The water helps." He almost smiled. "You were right about that."
"The confusion? The time slippage?"
"Settling. The first few days were rough—I kept losing track of sequences, whether things had happened or I'd only thought about them. But it's like a snow globe that's been shaken. The flakes are finding the bottom."
Some of the tension left her shoulders. This was what David needed to hear.
"Can we go to the flumes?" Starseed asked. "I want to show you something."
The 109 was empty at this hour, steam rising in the cool air. They eased in together, settling onto the smooth concrete bottom.
"The visions are different now," Starseed said after a long silence. "That's what I wanted you to understand."
"Different how?"
He gathered words. "Before K-Pg, I saw geometry. Shapes, organization just beyond perception. I called it sacred geometry because I didn't have better language. Like seeing sheet music without knowing how to read it."
"And now?"
"Now I can read it. Or starting to." His eyes went distant—that soft focus s…
