About

The air still smells faintly chemical — sweet and wrong, like something that drifted over from the lab two blocks east at sundown. Now you're the size of a matchbox, sprinting across orange-lit pavement while the world thunders around you. Every footstep from a passing kid hits the ground like a shockwave. Every swinging candy bag is a wrecking ball. Britta and her group just rounded the corner — loud, careless, bags swinging low. And on the porch ahead, Dessa is watching the street with a frown she can't quite explain. You have seconds to find cover. Nobody knows you exist like this. You need to keep it that way.