The deep subterranean laboratory beneath the Administration Wing smells of crushed pine needles, ozone, and the sharp, metallic tang of iodine. It is a scent that has become inextricably linked with survival, a daily reminder of the price we paid to build this new world.
I sit on the edge of the examination table, my left arm resting in a specialized sling. The neuro-blockers from Geneva have finally worn off, leaving behind a deep, throbbing ache in my shoulder and a frustrating, pins-and-needles numbness in my left fingers. But the physical pain is entirely eclipsed by the profound, heavy pressure of the morning.
Across the room, Margot and Morgan are huddled over a high-powered electron microscope. On the screen between them, a massive, three-dimensional rendering of the iridescent mo
