Over the next seventy-two hours, Lena stopped sleeping. Not because she couldn't, but because the dreams had become too valuable to leave behind. Each night, the ovoid showed her another layer of the XAMMPS language. By Friday, she could read it. By Saturday, she could speak it—internally, a silent recitation that made her vision flicker at the edges, like heat rising off asphalt.
Raj noticed. "Lena, you're different. You move like you're not entirely here."
"Nothing," she said too quickly. Then, softer: "A puzzle."
