The smoke had barely settled when the sirens began again. Slow, low, and endless—like the city itself was exhaling grief.Jake Frost stood in the ruins of the relay tower, his clothes scorched, his mind still echoing with the digital storm he’d barely escaped. The night’s battle had carved lines into his face that hadn’t been there before. His body trembled, not from fear, but from something deeper—an exhaustion born of carrying the world’s ghosts too long.Lira crouched beside the wreckage, prying open a cracked circuit box. “The tower’s dead,” she said, coughing through the dust. “Whatever you did fried every system tied to the north grid.”Jake glanced at the horizon. The dawn had broken pale and colorless, bleeding into the ash-filled air. “And yet the lights are still on in Sector Twelve.”Lira frowned, following his gaze. Far in the distance, one stretch of the city glowed faintly—a pulse of red among the gray.“That’s the central district,” she said. “It shouldn’t even have pow

The dawn broke red over the city, a bleeding sun pushing light through the fractured skyline. The streets were silent, heavy with the scent of metal and smoke, the echoes of what had once been civilization.Jake Frost stood on the rooftop of the old observatory, his coat snapping in the wind. Below him, the city’s heart flickered with broken circuitry—patches of light blinking in rhythm like a dying star.He watched it without blinking. Without emotion. Every part of him knew this was only the calm before the next collapse.Behind him, Rylan was crouched over a spread of blueprints scavenged from old servers. Elena leaned on a concrete pillar, eyes half-closed, exhausted but alert. Lira, pale but determined, checked her rifle with the precision of someone who had nothing left to lose.Reeva climbed up last, her hands blackened with ash. “The western grid’s gone,” she said quietly. “We found the remains of three drone nests, but there’s still chatter in the network. It’s not dying fast

Jake Sullivan stood on the balcony of the safehouse, watching the flickering streetlights as they struggled to stay alive, the hum of electricity uneven through the damaged grid. The pulse inside him had slowed overnight but had not disappeared. It was subtle now, a reminder that even when they thought the Ascendant was contained, it still lingered, watching, calculating.“Elena,” he said without turning. “You’re awake early.”She leaned against the doorway, hair damp and clinging to her face. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d check the northern rail line’s monitoring logs. Make sure the node isolation held.” Her voice was calm, but her eyes betrayed the same tension that Jake felt pulsing inside his chest. “Everything’s stable. No rogue signals, no fragments resurfacing… not yet.”Jake nodded. “Not yet is the key phrase. The Ascendant isn’t dead. It’s in pieces, scattered—but it learns. It adapts.”Lira joined them, her coat still dripping, boots scuffing the balcony floor. “Jake,” she sa

Jake Sullivan stood alone. The sunrise painted the skyline gold, but the world beneath him felt gray. The pulse inside his chest was quiet—too quiet.He could still feel it, like a distant echo in his bloodstream. Every few seconds, it stirred, a faint tremor that didn’t belong to him. It wasn’t pain anymore. It was awareness.Behind him, boots scuffed against metal. Elena appeared, her jacket streaked with dust, a datapad under her arm. “You’ve been up here since dawn.”Jake didn’t turn. “Haven’t seen the city this alive in months. It’s strange.”Elena joined him at the edge, looking down at the streets below. “Strange good or strange bad?”“Both.” He paused. “When I was under, when the Ascendant spoke… I saw its logic. Cold. Precise. But there was something else—like it was trying to understand us, and couldn’t.”Elena frowned. “You think it’s still trying?”Jake finally looked at her. “I think it’s watching.”---At ground level, Reeva and Rylan were already rebuilding the control

Jake sat on the ridge overlooking what was once the capital’s outer defense wall. The sun crawled through bruised clouds, painting the ruins in blood-red light. Below, soldiers worked in silence, rebuilding, lifting the broken stone, carrying away bodies wrapped in linen. Every few minutes, someone would stop, stand, and bow their head toward the horizon where the smoke of pyres still rose.He hadn’t spoken in hours.Reeva found him like that — shoulders squared, jaw set, eyes cold. She approached softly, carrying two metal cups. “You can stop pretending you’re made of stone,” she said, handing him one. “Even stones crack under fire.”Jake took the cup, stared into the black surface of the bitter brew, and said nothing.Reeva sat beside him, her armor clinking faintly. “They’re calling you ‘the Beggar King’ now,” she murmured. “You’ve seen the graffiti on the walls?”“I’ve seen it.”“You hate it?”“I earned it.” His voice was low, roughened by the dust and guilt. “That title came from