Metro City did not stay quiet for long.
Within a week of the power station’s destruction, the Brotherhood’s banners were gone. Their safehouses emptied. Their captains either vanished or switched loyalties overnight.
But peace did not follow.
It never did.
Mark stood on the rooftop of the safehouse at sunrise, watching cargo ships move slowly along the river. The air was cold, clean in a way it hadn’t been in months.
Below, The Cuts stirred awake. Vendors rolled carts into the streets. Shopkeepers unlocked metal shutters. Children ran past corners that once held armed men.
Devon joined him, holding two cups of coffee.
“You’re becoming predictable,” Devon said, handing one over.
Mark accepted it. “How?”
“Every time the city shifts, you come up here.”
Mark looked over the skyline.
