Escape from Zephyra

Harlan Cade leaned against the rusted wall of the alley, the metallic tang of Zephyra's streets filling his lungs with each breath. Above him, the triple suns burned like cold fire in the steel-gray sky, casting a harsh, unforgiving light over the city. He hummed softly to himself, a tune as old as his memory, his nervous habit betraying the turmoil that twisted inside. His back pressed against the wall, the chill from the iron surface creeping through his jacket. He closed his eyes, trying to focus, trying to calm the storm in his chest.

The charge against him was a lie—a fabrication spun from the underbelly of Zephyra’s darkest streets. Governor Lyne, shot dead, and the weapon planted on Harlan. No one cared about truth in this city. They cared about order. They cared about finding a culprit. And Harlan Cade was convenient.