The morning held its breath. No rain, no wind, just a vibrating silence that hung over the Glass Field like coiled thunder. On the horizon, the towers of the sunken city stood like matchsticks half-pressed into ash. Rhea crouched over the exposed core of the radio module she had cobbled together from two drone bellies; cables, as thin as leaf veins, trembled in her fingers. Alaric checked the magazine cartridge of his weapon for the third time, the latch snapping into place with a sound that was too loud for this silence.
Lina stood between them, her hand closed around the pendant on her neck. Beneath the skin of her wrist, a pale glow sometimes wandered, like the memory of lightning: the Heart Code, as capricious as a second breath.
"Once more," Alaric said without looking at her. "Tell me the plan, so I can quote you when I need to hate it."
