The Southern Alps were no longer a majestic backdrop; they were a jagged, frozen prison. With the destruction of the New Zealand retreat, the air had turned preternaturally cold, a biting wind whipping off the glaciers of Aoraki. But the physical chill was nothing compared to the digital frost creeping into Ethan’s mind.
Alistair Blackwood. The name was a tectonic plate shifting in the foundations of their lives. He was the man who had started the fire, the one who had sacrificed his daughter and hollowed out his son to build a world of zeros and ones. If he had survived the collapse of the Foundation by migrating into the Aura’s nascent mesh-net, he wasn't just a man anymore—he was the atmosphere.
"He’s using the satellite relays to triangulate the birth," Ethan said, his voice a jagge
