The screen of Medusa's phone glowed faintly in the dark room, the only light besides the slow rise and fall of Aleysia's breathing beside her. Outside, rain still fell without pause, tapping softly against the glass as if the world itself refused to rest.
Medusa had been awake for hours, not like she needed a rest, being an immortal.
News from across the world kept coming in; reports stacked one after another as disasters grew worse by the day. She had coordinated nonstop with Timothy, making sure her company's branches in dozens of cities opened their doors to refugees and victims. Supplies were sent, shelters were prepared, and emergency aid flowed toward flooded regions as fast as mortal systems allowed.
But none of it was ever enough.
