The city didn't roar back to life—it whispered.
Streetlights flickered like dying stars, traffic signals stuttered through impossible combinations, and holo-ads blinked on with fractured faces—smiling, screaming, dissolving. The Grid was alive, but no longer obedient.
Cain watched the skyline from the upper deck of a derailed tram, its steel body cracked open like an egg. The others were scattered across the platform, each catching their breath in the brief calm that followed chaos.
Hunter sat with his back against a wall, staring at his hands. They were still trembling. "You feel that?" he muttered. "It's listening."
Roselle glanced over. "You're not wrong."
She pointed toward a floating holo-screen hovering over the plaza below. The face on it—some corporate mascot that once advertised loyalty programs—now mouthed silent words, glitching between expressions. Then, its gaze fixed upward, right at them.
Susan raised her weapon. "We're exposed."
