The Grid screamed as if the city itself had been flayed alive. Lights stuttered, a hundred thousand LEDs coughing sparks. Screens went black then pink then snowed into useless static. For a breath, the spire felt like a throat exposed to the night — raw tissue and pulsing wires.
Cain felt the sound in his bones. He had expected the noise, not the way it settled into him, a cold that tasted like accusation. Around him, the corridor shuddered; servers cycled down in ragged successions. Steve's fists were a blur on the breaker board, lights reflected in his goggles like a swarm of dying fireflies. "Keep it steady," Cain said. His voice did not need to be loud. They moved as if underwater, each motion deliberate to conserve air.
