Rachel strides to a locked cabinet in the corner of her lab, her movements sharp with urgency. "Before you go, there's something else." She places her palm on a scanner that briefly displays coordinates in impossible geometries before clicking open.

  "More files?" James asks, watching the door.

  "Better." She pulls out what looks like a watch, but its face shows measurements I've never seen before, displaying data in formats that hurt my normal eye to look at. The darkness behind my left eye flickers in recognition.

  "What is it?"

  "Twenty years of research into quantum field manipulation, miniaturized into something you can actually use." She holds it out to me. "It's a damping device - helps control dimensional bleed without suppressing natural abilities. Like noise-canceling headphones, but for reality distortion."

  I take it carefully. The device feels warm against my skin, humming at frequencies that exist just outside normal space. As I slip it on my wrist, the darkness recedes - not fighting it, but recognizing something that works with its nature rather than against it.

  "I designed it based on my own quantum sensitivity," Rachel explains, making some quick adjustments. "Had to figure out how to function in normal society without causing electronic malfunctions every time I got emotional. But it should work even better for you, given your stronger connection."

  Almost immediately, I feel the difference. Reality still bends around me, but more subtly now. The lab's equipment stops trying to display readings from other dimensions. Even the darkness behind my eye seems more... focused somehow. Controlled but not constrained.

  "How does it work?" James asks, examining the device with professional interest.

  "It creates a contained quantum field that helps stabilize dimensional boundaries within its radius. Doesn't block sensitivity or prevent intentional interaction with other spaces - just helps prevent uncontrolled bleed-through." She makes one final adjustment. "The Church tries to suppress these abilities, force them into channels they can control. This works with them instead."

  I think about all the times I've had to concentrate just to keep reality stable around me, all the effort spent trying not to affect electronics or bend space when my emotions run high. "Why give me this?"

  Rachel's expression softens slightly. "You remind me of your mother." She moves back to her workstation, begins rapidly typing commands. "The device has limitations - it'll need recharging periodically, and extreme emotional states can still overwhelm its field. But it should help you maintain better control while you figure out your own path."

  "Won't the Church be able to track it?" James asks. "If it's generating quantum fields..."

  "It's specifically designed not to register on their detection methods. Generates fields that mimic natural quantum fluctuations rather than their artificial patterns." A small smile. "I've had a lot of practice hiding from them."

  The darkness ripples gently against the device's stabilizing field, and I realize something else has changed. The constant background awareness of Adrian, the subtle pull toward his unstable quantum state, has diminished. Not gone completely, but muted.

  "It's affecting my connection to him," I say. "To Adrian."

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  Rachel nods. "It should. His quantum field is artificially generated, forced into existence through their rituals. The damping field helps distinguish between natural dimensional interactions and artificial ones." She pauses in her typing. "It won't stop him from reaching for you completely - your natural connection to those spaces is too strong for that. But it might help you maintain better boundaries."

  "Thank you," I say, meaning it. "But why help me? After we compromised your security, your research..."

  "Because I couldn't help your mother." The words come out clipped, heavy with old regret. "Because I ran when I should have tried harder to make her see what they were really doing. And because..." She gestures at her monitors, her equations, her years of careful research. "Because someone should benefit from all this before I have to start over again."

  An alert flashes on one of her screens - nothing urgent yet, but a warning. She returns to typing, fingers flying over keys. "The device has other features - quantum shielding, dimensional stabilization, emergency power storage."

  The darkness presses against the damping field, settling into a more stable rhythm.

  "One last thing," Rachel says, still typing. "The device isn't just for control. It's also a key." She glances at me significantly. "To my backup research facility. Somewhere even the Church doesn't know about. If things go badly here... well, twenty years of research into natural quantum sensitivity shouldn't just disappear."

  "Why trust us with this?" James asks. "After what we did to your security?"

  "Because you'll need it. Both of you." She finally stops typing, turns to face us fully. "The Church isn't just afraid of losing control of dimensional access. They're afraid of what happens when people start understanding these abilities scientifically instead of religiously. When they realize that what they call transcendence is really just human consciousness expanding into spaces it was always meant to reach."

  The darkness whispers in agreement. Around us, reality ripples gently despite the damping field - not chaos now, but something more purposeful. More controlled.

  "Go," Rachel says, turning back to her computers. "I need to finish implementing my contingency protocols. The documentation will tell you everything else you need to know about the device. Just..." She pauses. "Be careful with it. Like everything involving quantum mechanics, observation affects outcome. The more you understand about how it works, the more it will work the way you expect it to."

  "That doesn't make sense," James objects.

  "Welcome to quantum physics." She starts typing again. "Now get out of here. Let me salvage what I can of my research before I have to burn everything down. Again."

  I touch the device on my wrist, feeling its subtle harmonics stabilize reality around me. "Will I see you again?"

  "If you figure out how to use the key correctly." She doesn't look up from her work. "The backup facility has answers you'll need. Data about your mother, about what the Church was really trying to do, about what these abilities really mean. Just... make better choices than she did."

  The darkness rises one last time as James leads me toward the door. Behind us, Rachel Chen - scientist, fugitive, survivor of the Church's early experiments - continues systematically preparing for another disappearance.

  We make our way back through the facility, reality staying remarkably stable around us thanks to the device. Even the receptionist's computer behaves normally as we pass. Outside, the Oregon afternoon feels somehow more solid, more real than before.

  "Well," James says as we reach the car. "That was..."

  "Informative?"

  "I was going to say 'complicated.'" He studies me. "You okay? That was a lot to process about your mother."

  I look at the device on my wrist, watching it display measurements of local quantum stability in formats that bridge normal space and other dimensions. The darkness pulses quietly against its damping field, controlled but not constrained.

  "I don't know," I answer honestly. "But at least now I have a choice about how to process it."

  The drive back to the hotel passes in thoughtful silence. Reality stays stable around us, the GPS behaving perfectly normally. Even my usual effect on electronics seems muted, controlled.

  The darkness hums quietly, adjusting to this new way of existing - not fighting what I am, but working with it. Not suppressing my connection to other spaces, but helping me choose how and when to use it.

  Time to figure out what that really means.

  Time to understand what choices are really possible when you can see through the thin places in reality.

  Time to become whatever I choose to be, on my own terms.

  The device pulses gently on my wrist, helping keep the world stable while I figure it all out.

  One choice at a time.