If she had stayed, she might have seen Presley twitch, a long thin shape stirring beneath his skin and coiling around his throat. She might have seen her brother wince in agony, metal spikes bursting across his face and braiding his head with thick cables of wires. Even worse, she might have seen him lift his head, revealing a sinewy vent of tissue fixed at the center of his throat. The flesh around the device—burned red as if cauterized. Instead, Tamsen sees none of that.
