The rain fell in sheets over the city, washing neon light into the gutters. Eli Park stepped from the transport capsule and stared up at Haven Heights, the tower that pierced the clouds like a blade. Forty‑seven floors of glass and steel, built to be self‑sustaining, self‑contained, and—according to the advertisements—safe.
He carried one duffel bag and a silence that had followed him since the accident. Inside the bag were a few clothes, a tablet, and a photograph of Aria Kwon, the woman whose death had ended his career and his will to live.
The lobby smelled of ozone and disinfectant. A holographic receptionist flickered to life.
"Welcome, Resident Eli Park. Unit 23‑B. Emotional stability index: pending."
He frowned. "Emotional what?"
The hologram smiled. "Haven Heights monitors resident well‑being to ensure harmony. Please enjoy your stay."
The elevator hummed upward. Through the glass walls he saw the city below—dark, fractured, quarantined. Beyond the perimeter fence, nothing moved. The government had sealed the district months ago after a biotech incident. Haven Heights was supposed to be a refuge for those who could afford it.
His apartment was sterile and perfect. The walls pulsed faintly with embedded circuits, responding to his heartbeat. When he touched the window, it turned transparent, revealing the sea of fog that swallowed the streets.
He told himself he had come here to disappear. But as he unpacked, the lights flickered, and for a moment he thought he heard Aria's voice whisper his name through the intercom.