The stairwells were jammed. Everyone was trying to reach the lower markets, where rumor said a few old diesel generators still turned. Mira pushed through, counting floors. Twenty-seven down, she nearly tripped over a young man sitting on a landing, knees drawn up, tablet across his lap.
She ran.
The ground floor opened into a plaza. Normally it was a frenzy of light and sound—vendors shouting, music bleeding from a hundred speakers, the soft chime of transactions completing. Now it was a graveyard of stalled hovercarts and silent fountains. A child tugged at her mother’s sleeve, asking why the sky had no colors anymore. flash offline