The wind at the top of the Observation Tower didn’t howl; it mourned. It whistled through the structural struts of the Spire’s sister-needle, carrying the scent of rain and ozone. I stood before the central tank, my reflection smeared against the glass, overlapping with the face of the woman inside.
"She looks so... peaceful," Mara whispered, her spear-tip lowered. Even the hardened Scavengers had gone quiet. In a world of rust and toxic sludge, this room was a cathedral of impossible preservation.
"She’s not peaceful, Mara," I said, my hand trembling as I touched the cold glass. "She’s a file. A biological backup. My father didn't love her; he obsessed over her until he turned her into a project."
I looked at the countdown on the terminal: 00:00:14:52. Fourteen minutes. After two hundr
