Sunrise spilled through the Glass City in wild torrents, painting latticework shadows that danced atop every avenue and archway. Kade Virell was awake before the first refraction lit the sky, fingertips pressed to the icy crystal track, feeling for the muted hum that meant the line was alive and well. The city was alive too, a luminous labyrinth carved from a single ancient monolith—one that caught the early light and scattered it across the world in impossible shades, from violet fire to molten gold. All around him, the waking glass buzzed with silent power, alive with the promise of motion and connection.

Kade moved with practiced precision along the maintenance walk adjacent to Transit Line Seven, a path reserved for Guild artisans and prodigies—though prodigy had long ago become less compliment and more burden. Dark hair clung stubbornly to the nape of his neck, refusing to behave, and runic chalk dusted his jacket sleeves. He bent close to the track, studying the ancient binding sigil flanking two glass rails. The sigil vibrated beneath his palm, thrumming to life as Kade connected the final swirl—a hummingbird’s tail lost among a sea of tradition.

There was supposed to be beauty in the routine. Instead, Kade felt the slow suffocation of expectation. The Guild wanted replication, not inspiration; they didn’t see the subtle shifts he designed into his runes, the way he experimented with line weight and loop, blending old systems with his own sense of restless potential. His heart beat too fast, never quite matching the measured tempo of the rails.

Note: This book contains AI‑generated content as disclosed by the publisher.