Arden sat on a metal bench on the roof of the Chronos Institute. Around her, the night wind blew cold, carrying the smell of ozone and the distant, charred remains of the Rust Sprawl.
In the distance, two moons hung in the violent violet sky. The sight was beautiful in the wrong way like a surrealist painting spilled into reality.
"You're not sleeping," a voice said.
Arden turned. Kael stood there, holding two cups of coffee. Steam rose from them, the only thing that looked normal in this broken world.
"Machines don't sleep," Arden said, raising her right hand. Her ghost-hand pulsed softly, fingers made of violet light tapping against her knee without a sound.
"You're not a machine," Kael said, sitting down next to her. He handed her a cup. "And machines don't drink stale coffee from emergency rations."
Arden took the cup with her left hand. The heat was real. "Thanks."
