The city had gone blind.
From the broken corridor where they stood, Cain could see the towers beyond flickering unevenly, lights stuttering like the dying breath of a colossus. Screens across the skyline blinked out, billboards froze, drones fell limp into the streets. The Grid's voice was gone, silenced in one clean stroke.
For a long moment, nothing moved. The silence was heavier than the scream had been. Then the city began to remember itself—old engines coughing to life, candles sparking in windows, people shouting in sudden dark. Without the Grid, Daelmont's hand had slipped from every corner of the spire.
Roselle holstered her pistol with deliberate care, eyes scanning the skyline. "We just turned a city into a battlefield."
Steve wiped his face with a sleeve, streaking soot across his skin. "We turned it into something it should've been all along—its own."
