LYRA’S POV
The damp valley mist was turning into a persistent, freezing drizzle by the time the wheels of the heavy utility buses ground to a halt at the corner of 4th and Elm.
I stood perfectly still on the narrow, cracked concrete landing of the fourth floor, my hand suspended inches away from the orange digital document tape pulsing against our apartment door. The harsh, rhythmic red glare of the electronic lock box cast long, bloody bars of light across my uniform blazer. The text of the Vance Logistics & Tenement Conglomerate decree burned into my mind. They hadn't just evicted us, they had classified our lives as a "structural safety non-compliance metric." They had locked away our entire existence under a corporate seal.
Heavy, uneven footsteps echoed from the concrete stairwell
