The sea's voice grew louder as the current dragged the transport further from the ruins of the Grid. The wind carried the scent of charred steel and salt; a funeral mix that clung to everything it touched. No one spoke for a long time. Words would have felt like trespass in the silence of a dying empire.
Roselle broke first. "We need somewhere to dock. Supplies, repairs, fuel—everything's shot."
Steve sat cross-legged near the broken console, cables coiled around his arms like veins. "Closest hub is the Meridian Platform," he said. "At least, what's left of it. Signal's weak but alive."
"Meridian's supposed to be Daelmont territory," Susan said, voice low.
"Used to be," Steve countered. "After tonight? No one owns anything anymore."
Cain leaned against the railing, his coat whipping in the wind. His eyes never left the horizon. "We'll take what's there. If anyone stands in the way, we clear them."
Hunter watched him. "That's not strategy—that's desperation."
