Novels by Lysandra

The iron-on-iron shriek that had haunted the Jurong dockside for three weeks finally died, replaced by a low, rhythmic hum. Kai gripped the hand-winch, feeling the cold, smooth tension of the gear train as it transferred his physical effort into the heavy lift. The improvement was intoxicating. Where once the crane had stuttered and groaned, threatening to fracture its own mounting bolts, it now swung with a precision that bordered on grace."Ease it," Wei Xian called out from the veranda, his voice cutting through the humid air. He was hunched over a steaming mug of tea, his eyes narrowed as he assessed the movement of the loading arm. "If you snap that cable, you’re the one who has to splice it in the salt-spray. Keep the torque steady."Kai didn’t look back. He leaned into the winch, his biceps burning as he guided the heavy, salt-encrusted crate of dried mackerel upward. It hung for a moment, suspended over the

The scratch of Mdm. Lim’s charcoal brush against the rough, recycled paper was the only sound in the office. It was a rhythmic, scratching pulse, like the steady beat of a heart, punctuating the stillness of the afternoon. Outside the thin, salt-worn walls of the command hut, the stilt-settlement hummed with the mundane, desperate industry of survival. The wind had begun to howl, a dry, abrasive gust that rattled the loose corrugated tin sheets overhead, carrying the scent of parched earth and distant, decaying mangroves.Mdm. Lim did not look up when the door creaked open. She didn't need to. The pattern of the footsteps—heavy, deliberate, yet hesitant—told her exactly who it was."The cistern is finished," Gabriel said, his voice gravelly from a day of breathing in the damp, claustrophobic air of the underground tank. He leaned against the doorframe, his clothes stiff with dried mud and the white, chalky residue of hy

Gabriel leaned his weight against the iron-shod handle of the sounding line, watching the grease-marked cord slip slowly down into the dark throat of the primary concrete cistern. The damp air rising from the subterranean chamber smelled of wet limestone, stagnant runoff, and the faint, mineral bitterness of ancient dregs. Beside him, Kai wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of a soot-dusted forearm, his eyes fixed on the descending cord."How deep is the drop this week, Gabriel?" Kai asked, his voice echoing slightly against the low, curved concrete ceiling of the access hatch. "Is the silt line climbing faster than Mdm. Lim calculated in the evening audit?""Two inches lower than Tuesday," Gabriel replied, his tone flat as he pinched the wet cord between his calloused fingers to mark the exact water level. "If we don't clear the intake pipe before the wind shifts fully to the south, the whole distribution manifold is g