The sky did not rewrite itself; it shattered. When the countdown struck zero, the expected global reboot collided head-on with the emerald-green scrambler array tearing out of the salvage vessel’s bow. The result was an atmospheric seizure. Violet and emerald data-streams lashed across the clouds like rival forks of lightning, turning the freezing Atlantic night into a neon-lit war zone.
Giulia hit the deck of the black contractor ship hard as her father released the crane harness. She scrambled to her knees, her boots slipping on the ice-rimed steel, and lunged toward Matteo. He was slumped against the recovery net, hacking up bitter Atlantic brine, but his eyes were wide and fiercely alive.
"Giulia," he choked out, his hands—raw and bleeding from the sea—finding her face.
"I've got yo
