“Eight Dollars and a Hundred Engines” The night air on Easton Avenue smelled of gasoline, rain, and something electric. Sienna Clark stood under the flickering light of a run-down gas station, eight crumpled dollars in her hand — her very last eight dollars — staring at the vending machine inside like it could judge her. Those eight dollars were supposed to buy her daughter Maya’s breakfast tomorrow. But then the world shifted in a heartbeat. A massive man lay on the pavement, trembling beside a shiny chrome motorcycle. His chest

The Rain That Saved Them The rain came down like someone dragging a broom through the sky — harsh, wild, and angry. It wasn’t the soft kind of rain that sings. It was loud and cruel, hitting the streets hard enough to shake windows and make bones ache. Under the cracked glass roof of a bus shelter, a young woman sat curled up tight, holding a little girl in her arms. The bench was wet and cold. Their shoes made dark footprints that disappeared as soon as more rain splashed

The glass walls of Meridian Global Systems swallowed the Manhattan night and threw it back as a grid of glittering lights—an ocean of ambition sparkling against the darkness. Nathan Carter stood in the center of it all, hands pressed flat on the mahogany desk he had bought the year Meridian went public. Fifteen years of his life, sweat and obsession and sleepless nights, seemed to tighten around him like a vice in a single, impossible moment. The monitors erupted in red alerts like bleeding flowers. Windows popped open and vanished.