Silence had become our lullaby, until it betrayed us. The world had paused to rebuild truth burned into its bones but gnawing at the edges, a frost crept in. I called it the Black Ice: a slow freeze where conviction hardened into apathy, and power found its way back through the cracks.
---
I found the first sign atop Sector 9’s hydroplant frozen valves, dissent in the pipes. No explosive. No signal. Just a stillness that spread like rot. That night, in the ruins beneath Blackridge, I met Renn in the half-light of collapsing girders.
“They locked the valves. Rationed water by decree,” she said. “No violence. No announcement. Just… permission lost.”
I stepped away. Water rationed = life rationed. I wondered how many funerals the quiet would inspire.
---
I walked through Sector 6’s mark
