Lira opened. “You both have losses. You both have more losses coming. Consortium: your filtration towers are three days from collapse without Voss’s spore-clearance data, which only his bio-network can harvest. Voss: your tissue banks are freezing because the Consortium controls the cryo-fuel supply. In one week, you rot. In two, you stop thinking.”
Their ship, the Last Courtesy , descended through acid clouds into the contested district. The air smelled of rot and antiseptic. Bodies—some dead, some only waiting—lay in the gutters. Civilians watched from behind barricaded windows with eyes that had forgotten how to cry. mediadores de ocaso
The Balance said nothing. He was already reviewing the next file. A water war in the crystal deserts. A ghost in a server farm holding a city hostage. Another dusk. Another table. Another chance to stop the bleeding, if only for a while. Lira opened
“They are mine .”
On the ship, climbing through the rain again, Sol asked, “Does it ever hold? The peace?” Consortium: your filtration towers are three days from
Voss’s composite mouth twisted. “They tried to sterilize my people.”
“Your people are dead,” Elara said flatly.