Last night, she made dinner. My favorite — lasagna with homemade garlic bread. We watched a movie. She was quiet, distracted.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Just thinking about work."
At midnight, I woke up to her standing over me with the device.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I need to know if it works. And I can't risk losing you if something goes wrong in front of my eyes."
"Nina, wait—"
She pressed a button.
The world turned inside out. I felt like every atom in my body was being pulled apart and reassembled by a drunk toddler. Colors that don't exist screamed through my brain. I heard my own voice from a thousand different lives.