The sun was hot—a heavy, honest heat that didn't just illuminate the world but made it sweat. I stood at the edge of the "Sector 7" bunkers, which we had long ago renamed The Hub. It wasn't a city of obsidian and glass anymore; it was a town of wood, repurposed airplane aluminum, and real, sun-baked brick.
I looked down at my hands. They were calloused, stained with the green juice of the tomato vines I’d been pruning. The white lightning scars on my arm were still there, but they had faded into thin, silvery lines that looked like a map of a journey I barely remembered.
"Leo! The water pressure is dropping again!"
I turned to see Nix walking toward me. She looked radiant—not with the artificial glow of the simulation, but with the health of someone who spent her days in the sun. She wo
