The mornings began with motion.

Gray was always the first awake, clattering around the workshop below, muttering about circuitry and scavenged parts. His voice had become the outpost’s unofficial alarm clock—half complaint, half reassurance that the world still moved.

By the time Hale joined him, the sky was a muted amber over the industrial ring. The haze of the old factories shimmered faintly, their rusted silhouettes softened by distance. Evelyn would follow a little later, usually ...