The neon signs of the city flickered through the thickening fog, casting long, bruised streaks of magenta and acid green across the wet pavement.
Cattleya kept her head down, dodging the blur of umbrella-toting pedestrians. Her body felt heavier by the minute, every biological impulse demanding warmth, food, and rest. But survival in this unscripted world was cut short the moment she turned down a narrow, subterranean subway entrance to escape the rising chill.
The stairs descended into pitch darkness. The air down here didn't smell like diesel or rain; it smelled of stale copper, iron, and a cloying, organic rot that made her newly formed stomach violently twist.
She slowed her descent, gripping the slick handrail. There was a low, subterranean vibration humming through the concrete”no
