The first 10 days of the 90 passed quiet. Too quiet.No inspectors. No letters. No cut power. The market ran. The clinic ran. The Rain Room had twelve kids every afternoon. That was what made Aaron uneasy.Because when City Corp went quiet, it meant they were watching from somewhere you couldn’t see.On day 11, a letter came. Not to the fence. Not to the Council. To house three. Slid under the door.No stamp. No name. Just paper. Thick. Expensive. Inside, one line: *_We should talk. About the ground. Roof Garden. Tower 7. Midnight. Come alone. —F__Aaron showed it to the Council. “F,” Mira said. “That’s not City Corp.” “Could be a trap,” the man said. “Could be the only person who’ll tell us why they’re being quiet,” Aaron said.He went.Tower 7 was different at night. Clean. Quiet. The air smelled like nothing. The Roof Garden was on floor 60. Glass walls. Trees in pots. Water that ran for no reason. A woman waited there. About Selene’s age. Nice c

The Row stopped counting.Not because nothing happened. Because everything started happening at once, and numbers couldn’t hold it.After City Corp walked the street and left without shutting anything, something shifted. People stopped whispering and started visiting.First came neighbors. From the next block. Then two blocks over. They didn’t ask about the houses. They asked about the clinic. “My kid has a cough.” “My back hurts from the stairs.” “Can you teach us how to make a lamp that lasts?”The nurse didn’t say no. She said, “Help us carry water and I’ll show you.”Then came the traders. Not the big ones from the tower markets. The small ones. The woman who sold thread. The man who fixed shoes. They set up at the edge of the market on the days it ran. “Is it okay if I’m here?” “If you bring something useful, it’s okay,” Selene said.Then came the questions.A man from City Corp maintenance came at dusk. He didn’t have a badge. He had a leak. “The pi