Her hand moved.

Not a strike. Not a slap. Just a gesture—fingers curling slightly, palm turning, wrist rotating with the casual grace of someone brushing away dust.

The eastern edge of New Portland ceased to exist.

Not exploded. Not destroyed. Not reduced to rubble or ash or scattered atoms. Simply erased—matter and energy and the space they occupied removed from reality like words deleted from a page. One moment there were buildings, streets, remnants of civilian shelters. The next, ...