Silas’s POVThe Sky Whale sat on the cracked porcelain of the Southern salt flats like a dying beast. Its hull was scorched black, and the thermal nuclear engines were emitting a low, rhythmic ticking sound that reminded me of a cooling corpse. I stepped out onto the boarding ramp, my boots crunching against the salt. Thorne, we have a problem, I said, my voice cracking as I looked up.Thorne was standing near the base of the fallen Gravity Spire, his silhouette framed by the setting sun. He turned, his face drawn and weary, but his eyes were sharp. He had been watching the horizon for more Clean Up ships, but the sky was unnervingly empty.The Clean Up fleet retracted, Thorne said, walking toward me. They didn’t just retreat, Silas. They vanished. They headed straight up, punching through the atmosphere like they were late for a meeting.They weren’t retreating, I said, holding up the Black Box. They were repositioning. Look at the lunar transit readings.The moon isn’t a roc
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