But a frozen Earth is a dead Earth, I project back, my mental voice fierce. No growth. No life. Just a perfect, geometric statue.
Elara finishes drawing the pattern in the condensation. It is a massive, dodecahedron lattice, wrapping around a sphere. Twelve points of light, evenly spaced across the globe.
"London was Node Four," Elara whispers, her silver eyes swirling with complex shapes. "Node One was in the sss. Node Two was in the Sahara. Node Three was in the Mariana Trench. They’re activating them in a sequence. And Node Five... Node Five is going to activate in six hours."
"Where?" I demand, my physical voice dropping to a lethal, icy calm.
Elara points to the condensation on the window. She traces a line from London, across the Atlantic, to the eastern seaboard of North America
