The atmospheric pressure over the Western Trench did not drop by steady increments. It crashed like a solid slab of lead the moment the Directorate transit liner cleared the coastal airspace.Kaela stood at the primary viewport of the flight deck. Her fingers were locked onto the aluminium console rail to stabilize her weight against the violent turbulence. Outside the reinforced smart-glass, the international sky had turned a toxic, bruised indigo, ripped apart by continuous arcs of horizontal purple lightning that threw off no thunder but only a high-pitched, electronic shriek that rattled the ship's gravity turbines. Below them, the open ocean was an oil-black expanse of churning, hundred-foot waves, all surging in a tight, geometric vortex towards the absolute centre of Sector Twelve."The barometric fields are completely inverted," Kaela rasped, her voice dropping into a sharp, clinical register that left no room for tactical hesitation. She kept the sleek titanium briefcase secu
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