He was twenty-four again. The air was thick with the smell of cardamom and diesel fumes. His boots were wet. His left hand trembled around a tin cup. The tea was too sweet, but he drank it because the heat was the only thing keeping his teeth from chattering. A child in a torn shirt stood three feet away, holding out a dead sparrow like an offering. Elias remembered looking away.
Elias gasped, ripping the electrodes from his head. The technician rushed in. “Your vitals spiked—should we stop?”
He lay back in the recliner, electrodes kissing his temples like cold lips. The lights dimmed. And then—
