Rain hissed against burning metal.

The night had gone silent except for the slow drip of water through the fractured shell of the Westline dome. Smoke curled from twisted steel ribs; electrical arcs still danced where the city’s power grid had been ripped open.

From the wreckage, a hand pushed upward.

The glove was half-melted, the skin beneath blackened and raw. Doran dragged herself from the rubble, coughing as she tore free a length of fiber cable tangled around her legs. Her visor ...