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The track shifted again. Now it sounded almost like speech—but not any language. Just the shape of words, rising and falling in a slow, deliberate cadence. Each rise sent a gentle pulse through his jaw, his neck, the inside of his wrists. He exhaled without meaning to.

Three minutes in, the pulse deepened. It wasn’t a beat anymore; it was a waveform, undulating, with a texture like warm static. He felt it behind his eyes first. Then at the base of his skull. Then—strangest of all—a faint, pleasant tightness in his fingertips, as if they were brushing against a faint electric field. estim audio tracks

He opened his eyes. His hands were resting on his thighs, palms up. He hadn’t moved them. But he could have sworn he felt a phantom touch tracing his spine. The track shifted again