City Of Glass Graphic Novels & Stories

Suspended forty floors above the rain-slicked, grey concrete streets of Edmonton, the vast space was framed by monolithic panels of triple-glazed structural glass and stark, matte-black steel girders that bisected the view of the skyline like structural blades. A massive, fifteen-foot slab of polished black quartzite served as the central table, its flawless, reflective surface catching the overcast sky outside and turning the entire room into a dark, volcanic mirror. It was an environment designed to intimidate, to reduce complex human lives down to cold, unyielding vectors of capital and institutional power.

It was heavy, wrapped in obsidian-black paper with no insignia, no logo, and no indication of the designer. I didn't open it immediately. I paced the perimeter of the living area, the floor-to-ceiling windows showing a Seattle that felt different tonight—sharper, colder, more dangerous. In less than twenty-four hours, I would be walking into the Glass Pavilion. I would be walking into the center of a spiderweb, designed by Garrison Vance specifically to trap me and, by extension, Peter.

’ I thought. I paused for a moment, my gaze drawn to the glass window. With a deep breath, I approached it. The cityscape was truly breathtaking, with its sprawling expanse and the mesmerizing glow of lights from cars and bustling businesses. From this vantage point, the stars appear as if they are below us. ‘Nice!’

Now I’m learning I was very wrong. “What do you think, trouble?” Sinclair asks as the Alpha’s come to a pause in their conversation. We’re currently speeding over a mirrored bridge which makes it feel as if we’re driving right across the surface of the lake, and the closer we get to the city, I realize why it seemed to glow: It’s a city made entirely of glass. It reminds me of the intricate ice sculptures I’ve seen at winter fairs, when artists create entire worlds out of the beautiful but impractical substance. “It’s incredible.” I breathe. “I’ve never seen anything like it… but how is it possible? I would have thought glass was too fragile for such complex structures.”

As they stepped through the shimmering portal, the world didn't just change; it inverted. The Glass City was a nightmare of geometry. Towers of translucent, obsidian-like glass rose from a floor that reflected a sky filled with multiple moons. There was no wind, no scent of pine or earth. Everything felt sterile, sharp, and profoundly cold. “Stay in formation!” Roman commanded, his voice sounding strange and metallic in the thin air. As they moved deeper into the city, the mirrors began to act.

The city stretched on beyond the glass, indifferent to the promises made in the dark. But I’d keep this one.

[The Glass Treaty] The blood on the harbor stones had been washed away by a sudden, cooling rain, but the air in the Spire remained heavy with the scent of ozone and unsaid things. I stood before the floor-to-ceiling glass of our private terrace, watching the city below. New Macau looked fragile today—a sprawling network of lights that could be extinguished by a single wrong pulse. Behind me, I heard the rhythmic clink-clink of Jinyan’s tactical plating hitting the floor. One piece at a time, he was shedding the monster he had become to save me.

My back hit cool glass—the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city—and I gasped at the temperature contrast against my heated skin. "Do you know what you do to me?" he growled, turning me to face the window. "How long I've wanted this?" The city sprawled below us, a glittering carpet of lights. At this hour, the neighboring buildings were mostly dark, their windows vacant eyes in the night. Still, the exhibitionist thrill of being pressed against the glass, naked and wanting, sent a fresh rush of heat between my legs. "Show me," I challenged, bracing my hands against the smooth surface.

He smiled at her knowingly, then walked away. Left alone, she stood again by the glass, watching the city move—trains snaking through lanes, pedestrians threading between towers. She pressed one palm to the window, sensing how the glass held her weight. She glanced down at her thighs. A faint purple mark bloomed beneath the fabric. She inhaled and masked both pain and acceptance beneath the currency of air.