For a long time, Thomas knew only darkness. The break in the void of his thoughts was just a hairline
crack—only wide enough to let him know about the void itself. Somewhere on the edge of it all, he knew
that he was supposed to be asleep, kept alive only so they could inspect his brain. Take it apart, probably
slice by slice.
So he wasn’t dead yet.
At some point as he floated in this confusing mass of blackness, he heard a voice. Calling his name.
After hearing Thomas several times, he finally decided to go after it, find it. He made himself move
toward the voice.
Toward his name.
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