The mess hall in A-Block sagged under the weight of recycled heat and exhaustion.
Tables leaned slightly on uneven metal legs, and the faint, sour smell of synthetic protein paste clung to the air. The overhead lighting buzzed, a low and sickly hum that matched the dull throb in Elias's skull.
He sat at a corner table, his tray pushed away. He hadn't touched the gray sludge molded into the shape of a ration block. His hands rested flat on the scratched metal surface, the knuckles bruised and swollen. The compression binder wrapped tightly around his fractured ribs made every breath shallow, a constant, physical reminder of the sheer difference in power between him and the Primed Epics.
Across from him, Faye sat with one elbow propped against the table. Her red hair caught the flickering light, falling loosely over her shoulders. She didn't look at her food either. Her eyes were closed, her brow furrowed in deep concentration.
