Treason's Harbour Novels & Stories

"We don't distract. We destabilize." "How?" "The Iron-Port is a trade hub," Saoirse said. "It's where the raw Aether-ore from the mines meets the refineries. It's a city of workers, dockhands, and slaves." She looked at Tristan. "You started a riot in Oremond with a speech. Can you do it again?" Tristan looked at the map. He felt a flicker of the old Viper—the manipulator, the politician. It was a faint spark, not the roaring bonfire of the Void, but it was there.

Trent barks, slamming the door. ********

Elias said. "Ten," Damien corrected. "If you keep the revs above three thousand." They didn't speak again until the gravel road gave way to the broken concrete of the secondary fuel dock. The harbor was completely dead behind them now, the five-story iron frame of the shipping tower rising out of the mist like the skeleton of a whale that had died in the mud before the canal was dug.

It shrivelled. In a heartbeat, the ivory fortress was gone, reduced to a heap of charred, organic matter at the bottom of the harbor. The pressure vanished. The bronze light died. The harbor was silent, save for the sound of the receding tide and the sobbing of the survivors as they realized the "perfection" had been a lie. I stood in the mud, clutching a shivering, human Mia to my chest. I looked toward the blackened pile of the Lotus. "Xander?" I called out, my voice small and terrified.

She had to restrain herself from cursing him. Ryan Gonzalez, New York City's jewel man? Agnes thinks it's more appropriate to call him the most overbearing man in New York City.

The harbor of Port Trinity smelled of stagnant salt and rising panic. Without the "Circle" to manage the automated locks, the town’s primary grain silo was a sealed tomb of steel, and the desalination plant had ground to a shivering halt. People stood on the docks, staring at their dead devices as if waiting for a miracle that had been retracted.

“Yes,” Mia whispered, squeezing her eyes shut in pain. Zachary immediately led her out, glancing back at Sarah again and again as if still worried. Sarah slipped into her own car. She could already picture what the next morning would look like. Vivian’s imprisonment would sweep across the entire East Coast like wildfire, and Wilson Corp would once again become everyone’s favorite target. Harbour Crescent—once a luxury resort—was now nothing but rubble. In just a few months, the construction workers had abandoned the site, stripping the place of anything valuable. The once-glamorous Harbour Crescent Resort had become the most desolate property in the city.