The exit opens with a hiss. I walk out of the shuttle port, and into the city. I immediately hold my hand up to block the sun. It's a bright day without a single cloud in the rose-tinged sky. The light beats down, glaring of the neighborhood's dome.
"This way, Ms. Anderson." I hear a deep voice call to me. A hand grasps mine and helps me down the last three steps of the gang plank. I'm wearing ballet flats. Even so, I wobble on my feet as if they were 10-inch stilettos. I can barely feel my soles touch the metal with each step. I concentrate hard on trying to avoid floating away.
Once firmly on the ground, I look up at the man who helps me. I take in his stylish frames, his roguish stubble, and his dark, flawless skin. It's been years since I've seen him, but he's changed very little.
"
