The Northern Wastes were colder than I remembered.
Snow spiraled across the barren fields, not falling naturally but drifting in jagged patterns—like the wind wasn’t wind anymore, but the Tower’s breath reshaped by the resistance of the land.
Kira tightened the straps of her thermal jacket.
“Feels like the weather’s arguing with itself.”
“It is,” I said. “The network’s trying to stabilize the climate, but the Wastes push back.”
She glanced at me. “Like the people.”
Exactly like the people.
The snow-covered ruins stretched endlessly in front of us—broken towers, collapsed highways, hollow factories half-buried in frost. Shattered pieces of the old world, refusing to join the new.
Kira’s breath misted.
“You think they really won’t shoot us on sight?”
“I think they’ll shoot you slo
