The other side of the gate was glass, steel, and the smooth hush of people who knew exactly where they were going.
The Northern Continent's central hub didn't look like a station so much as a circulatory system. Glow-lines ran through the floor, moving belts carried travelers toward a dozen secondary gates, and announcements came in a calm, neutral voice that seemed to assume you'd already read the schedule.
Rachel was already walking. Of course she was.
"One more transfer," she said, checking her phone without slowing down.
I fell in beside her. We'd known each other for nearly two months now. Long enough to have a rhythm. Long enough to know that when she said "transfer," the next hour of my life would be painless and expensive.
