Sunlight didn't quite reach the corners of Amberine's workshop. It tried—filtered in through stained, dust-fogged windows high up the stone walls of the arcane tower—but mostly failed. The room seemed to absorb it, swallow it whole into the tangle of parchment rolls, floating crystal shards, half-formed constructs, and scattered teacups.
Amberine sat cross-legged on a stool, a small screwdriver pinched between her teeth. In her hands, the Orb of Emotion pulsed faintly—a gentle bluish glow that shimmered each time she exhaled. Her eyes narrowed.
"No," she muttered, turning the sphere in her palm. "You're still syncing just a hair too slowly on low-end resonance." She reached for a new runeplate and etched in a secondary feedback circuit.
