The convergence point was a clearing.

Not a dramatic one. Not the kind of clearing that announced itself with open sky and obvious significance. A modest space between trees where the forest had thinned naturally, the ground slightly lower than the surrounding terrain, the way old riverbeds became depressions after centuries of dry seasons.

Unremarkable to the eye.

Extraordinary to any other sense Marina possessed.

The pre-pack channels converged directly beneath the center of the clearing. Not metaphorically. Physically. Marina pressed her palm to the ground at the clearing's edge and felt twelve distinct channel lines meeting at a single point fifteen feet ahead of her, the frequency of each...