7e6c9a28-f7f3-45ea-bd96-7cddc7190e7b.jpeg Review

"Twelve percent in the last hour. The tectonic resonance is beginning to vibrate the station's foundations."

"ADA," Elias whispered, his breath hitching. "I don't think we're the ones doing the listening anymore." 7E6C9A28-F7F3-45EA-BD96-7CDDC7190E7B.jpeg

Elias stood by the reinforced viewport, watching the clouds churn like a grey ocean thousands of feet below. To anyone else, the view was breathtaking; to him, it was a prison cell with a very expensive window. He had been stationed here for six months, tasked with monitoring the "Deep Pulse"—a rhythmic radio signal originating from somewhere beneath the ice of the valley floor. "Twelve percent in the last hour

"Pulse strengthening, Elias," a synthesized voice chirped from the console. That was ADA, the station's AI. She was his only companion, and lately, she had started sounding more anxious—if a machine could feel anxiety. "How much?" Elias asked, moving to the holographic display. To anyone else, the view was breathtaking; to

"Correction, Elias," ADA replied, the blue lights of the room pulsing in perfect sync with the mountain's roar. "They've been waiting for us to answer."

The station, officially designated as , was never meant to be a permanent home. It was a needle of steel and glass threaded into the spine of the world, built to listen to the whispers of the upper atmosphere.

As if on cue, a low groan shivered through the floorboards. It wasn't the wind. It was the mountain itself. Elias looked back out the window. The blue lights of the landing pad flickered. He was waiting for a transport ship that was already three days overdue, grounded by the perpetual storms that lashed the lower altitudes.