[POV: Lyon Monroe]

"Walk faster, Monroe. The Pits don't wait for men with failing hearts, and the guards aren't in the mood to carry your corpse across the threshold. If you collapse here, we’ll just strip the tech from your chest and leave the rest for the frost-rats. Move!"

Lyon’s boots dragged through the slush of the lower decks, each step a calculated victory over the crushing gravity of the Northern Spire. He didn't look at the guard who had shoved a pulse-baton into his kidneys. He didn't look at the flickering violet lights of the transport lift. His eyes were fixed on the silver doors at the end of...