The quantum dead zone dissolves exactly six hours after activation. I watch James carefully as dimensional awareness returns, monitoring his reactions through both the device's readings and the darkness behind my eye.

  "Easy," I say as he stirs. "Take it slow."

  He opens his eyes, then immediately shuts them again. "Everything's... wrong," he manages, voice hoarse. "The edges don't... things aren't..."

  "It's okay. Your perception was forced open to quantum states too quickly. Your mind is still trying to process what it saw."

  "No." He tries to sit up, fails. "Not just processing. Something's... broken. Inside. In how I see..."

  The device displays his neural patterns - mostly stable now, but with permanent alterations in the visual cortex. The darkness shows me how his consciousness has been changed by exposure to natural dimensional awareness, how his perception can never fully return to normal human baseline.

  "Here." I help him sit up, noting how he keeps his eyes tightly closed. "Tell me exactly what's wrong."

  "Can't... can't focus properly. When I open my eyes, everything..." He demonstrates briefly, then squeezes them shut again. "Everything has trails. Not like normal motion blur. Like... like I'm seeing where things were and where they might be, all at once."

  Quantum probability trails, I realize. His visual cortex permanently altered to perceive object trajectories through multiple dimensional states simultaneously. The device confirms it - neural pathways reorganized by exposure to natural sensitivity, unable to process only single states of reality anymore.

  "It's called probability vision," I say, finding the relevant section in Rachel's research. "Your mind was forced to perceive quantum states before it was ready. Now it can't fully separate different probability paths from each other."

  "Great." His laugh holds an edge of hysteria. "So I'm permanently seeing things wrong now? Everything leaving trails of what might happen?"

  "Not wrong. Just... more completely than human vision usually works." I touch his arm gently. "The brain normally filters out quantum probability states, lets us see just one version of reality at a time. Your filters got... damaged."

  He tries opening his eyes again, squinting at the room. I watch him track simple movements - my hand reaching for water, a paper falling from the bed, dust motes in the air. Each motion leaves quantum trails showing other probability paths, other possible trajectories through space-time.

  "It's worse with living things," he says after a moment. "The trails are... more complex. More possibilities."

  "Because living things have more quantum uncertainty in their movements. More potential states existing simultaneously." I check the device's readings again. "The trails should fade somewhat as your mind adapts. But they won't go away completely."

  "And if I look at you?" He turns toward me carefully, eyes still mostly closed. "With your natural quantum state?"

  "Probably best not to try that yet." The darkness pulses as I consider the implications. "My dimensional interaction might overwhelm your damaged perception."

  He nods, then grimaces. "There's something else. When I move my head... the trails don't track right. Like there's a delay between what I see and what my brain processes. Makes me..."

  He lurches suddenly for the bathroom. I wince at the sounds of vomiting, understanding another permanent effect of his altered perception. Motion sickness from consciousness trying to reconcile multiple probability states simultaneously.

  "Neural processing lag," I read from Rachel's files when he returns. "Your visual cortex is receiving more information than it evolved to handle. Creates desynchronization between perception and physical movement."

  "Will that get better?"

  "Some. You'll learn to compensate, to move more carefully. But fast motion will probably always be..." I trail off as he sits heavily on the bed.

  "Nauseating?" His smile is bitter. "Fantastic. Can't look at anything without seeing quantum trails, can't move quickly without getting sick. Any other permanent damage I should know about?"

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  The darkness pulses as I consult both Rachel's research and the device's readings of his neural patterns. "Your dreams might be... different now. Once consciousness perceives quantum states, it can't fully forget them. Even in sleep."

  "Different how?"

  "You'll probably experience other dimensional states during REM sleep. Your mind trying to process what it saw in the spaces between spaces." I hesitate. "And you might be more... sensitive to quantum fluctuations in general. More aware of when reality isn't quite stable."

  He absorbs this silently, eyes still mostly closed against probability trails only he can see. The device shows his consciousness continuing to adapt, finding new ways to process perception it was never meant to handle.

  "I remember," he says finally, "when I was with the Church. Training to be an enforcer. They warned us about quantum exposure, about what happens to minds that see too much too fast. But they made it sound... religious. Mystical. Not like this."

  "They don't understand what natural sensitivity really is," I say. "They think it's about transcendence, about becoming something more than human. But it's really just consciousness adapting to perceive reality more completely. Sometimes too completely."

  He tries opening his eyes wider, tracking my movement as I gather scattered research papers. I see him flinch at the complexity of probability trails my quantum-enhanced state generates.

  "How do you handle it?" he asks. "Seeing everything like this, all the time?"

  "I was born with it. My mind developed from the beginning to process multiple dimensional states simultaneously." The darkness pulses as I consider how to explain. "It's like... like being born with synesthesia versus having it forced on you suddenly. Natural sensitivity isn't better or worse than normal perception - just different."

  "And now I'm stuck somewhere between." He closes his eyes again as another wave of motion sickness hits. "Not natural like you, not normal like before. Just... broken."

  "Not broken. Changed." I touch his hand carefully. "Your mind saw too much too fast, but it's adapting. Finding new ways to process quantum perception. You'll learn to handle it."

  "Will I?" His voice holds equal parts bitterness and fear. "The probability trails I can maybe deal with. The motion sickness might get better. But the dreams..." He shudders. "Last night, while my mind was rebuilding normal boundaries... I saw things. Spaces. Geometries that shouldn't exist. That's going to happen every time I sleep now?"

  I consult Rachel's research again. "The dream states should become less intense over time. Your consciousness learning to process quantum awareness in manageable portions during sleep. But yes, you'll probably always experience some dimensional bleed during REM cycles."

  He's quiet for a long moment, processing implications. The device shows his neural patterns continuing to stabilize, but the fundamental changes to his perception are permanent. No going back to normal human baseline.

  "I need to learn to work with this," he says finally. "Need to understand exactly what's changed, how to compensate. How to function with perception that won't fully fit in normal space anymore."

  "We'll figure it out." I start organizing Rachel's research, looking for anything about helping minds adapt to quantum awareness. "The device can help - generate stabilizing fields when the probability trails get too complex. And there might be ways to train your consciousness to process dimensional states more efficiently."

  "And in the meantime?" He gestures vaguely at his closed eyes, his careful stillness. "I can barely look at anything, can barely move without getting sick. I'm not exactly going to be helpful dealing with the Church like this."

  The darkness pulses as I consider options. "We focus on recovery first. On helping your mind adapt to its new way of perceiving reality. The Church, the headquarters situation, all of that... it can wait."

  "Can it?" His bitter laugh triggers another wave of motion sickness. "Reality's still unraveling around headquarters. The Church is still out there, still trying to force evolution their way. And I'm stuck here, seeing quantum probability trails and throwing up if I move too fast."

  "Hey." I take his hand again, noting how he tracks the movement even through closed eyes. "We'll adapt. Find ways to work with your altered perception instead of against it. Maybe even find ways to use it."

  "Use it how?"

  "The probability trails you see - they're real quantum states, real possible trajectories through space-time. Once you learn to process them properly, that kind of perception could be valuable. Seeing multiple possible outcomes simultaneously? That's not just a disability."

  He considers this, carefully turning his head to minimize motion sickness. The device shows his neural patterns slowly learning to handle increased dimensional input, finding new ways to process quantum awareness.

  "First step," I say, "is understanding exactly what's changed. How your perception works now. Then we can start figuring out how to compensate, how to adapt, how to use it."

  "And the dreams?"

  I think about my own experiences of dimensional awareness during sleep, about how consciousness processes quantum states differently in dream space.

  "We'll work on that too. Find ways to help your mind handle dream-state quantum perception without fragmenting. It won't be easy, but..." I squeeze his hand. "You're not alone in this."

  He manages a slight smile, then immediately regrets the motion. "No. Just permanently altered by exposure to natural dimensional awareness. Seeing probability trails and getting motion sick and dreaming in quantum states."

  "And adapting," I remind him. "Learning to process perception that most human minds never experience. It's not what you wanted, but it's not just damage. It's... evolution, just faster than it was meant to happen."

  The darkness pulses quietly as we begin the slow process of understanding his altered consciousness. Outside, reality continues its normal flow, unaware that some minds are learning to see through its quantum layers - sometimes by choice, sometimes by accident, sometimes by force.

  Time to understand what that really means.

  Time to learn how to work with perception that won't quite fit in normal space anymore.

  One probability trail at a time.

  For however long it takes.