But Arlo knew what green sky meant. Every archivist did. That was the color of the atmospheric processors failing in Sector 7. The color before the Burn. The tape had been recorded exactly seventy-two minutes before the power grids liquefied and the satellites began to fall like sad, burning stars.

The tape was brittle. He fed it into the playback rig with surgical tweezers.

The mother’s voice shifted. Calm, but hollow. “Actually, come here. Sit with me.”