The Westline District looked like the world after the end.

Half the towers were dark, their windows shattered or flickering with phantom light. The streets were choked with dust and hanging cables, and the air shimmered faintly — residual charge from the network surge. Every few seconds, a current of static whispered across the asphalt, tracing invisible veins of power beneath the city’s broken skin.

Hale and Gray moved quietly, rifles slung low, boots crunching over glass. The air was ...