Meanwhile, it was morning on this side of Jupiter.
The light was softer, filtered through layered canopies stretched between buildings to keep the storms and glare away. The streets were already alive. Vendors were setting up stalls, steam rising from grills and pots, voices overlapping in half a dozen languages that blended into a steady murmur. It smelled like spices, oil, metal, and something sweet Lyra couldn't place but kept pulling her toward it anyway.
Reva walked a step behind her, hood down, posture calm, face composed the way it always was in public. Anyone looking closely would notice the tension she never quite let go of, the way her eyes kept drifting ahead like she expected someone to appear out of thin air.
Lyra was back to her usual self on the surface, bouncing from stall to stall, stopping every few steps to stare at something new, but even she kept glancing over her shoulder more often than she realized.
