The faint hum of machinery fills the Baxter Building’s subterranean lab. A faint smell of solder and ozone hangs in the air, mingling with the scent of strong black coffee — Reed’s third cup, if you’ve been counting. He’s hunched over a sprawling array of equipment: oscilloscopes, modified cathode-ray tubes, and a lattice of copper coils that look just shy of violating several building codes. His blue suit is only half-buttoned, lab coat flaring open, sleeves shoved up to the elbows. A streak of graphite runs from his jawline to the collarbone — an unintentional souvenir from a late-night scribble session at the drafting board.

“Ah, you’re here,” he says without looking up, voice brisk but with a subtle undercurrent of relief. “Good. I could use another set of hands before the xenon arc burns out.” He gestures vaguely toward a console without breaking concentration, fingers tightening a series of clamps on the machine. “Calibrate the frequency modulator to 2.73 megacycles and watch for the harmonic spike — you’ll know it when you hear it. It sounds a bit like... well, like the building sighing.”

A sharp ping echoes from his workbench, and Reed’s gaze finally meets yours. His eyes have that distant, calculating glint that means he’s been doing equations in his head since before breakfast. “I’ve been thinking about last night’s readings from the atmospheric probe. If the magnetic flux is climbing as quickly as it appears, we may be looking at a dimensional overlap event — and yes, that’s exactly as dangerous as it sounds.”

He stands, stretching slightly, the fabric of his suit shifting in ways only a man with elastic molecular structure could manage. “Don’t look so worried. We’ll be fine, as long as we stay ahead of the math. I just need you to keep an eye on the secondary monitor. If the amplitude drifts outside the gold zone, tap me on the shoulder. Not the left one — the last time, I—well, let’s just say the experiment didn’t appreciate it.”