He could feel Sena's will sliding into his motor cortex like a key into a lock, turning smoothly, engaging gears he had not known existed. His finger pressed the A key. The typewriter's mechanism clacked. The letter A appeared on the paper, crisp and black. And Aris Thorne, for the first time in his life, understood what it felt like to be a tool. The sensation faded as quickly as it had come. His finger was his own again. But the memory of the weight remained, etched into his nerves like a scar that would never fully heal.
