Sector 47 looked exactly how I remembered it—and that wasn't a compliment.
D-Rank housing didn't pretend. There were no artificial gardens. No polished railings. No retinal-lock gates or tempered soundproofing. The buildings sat like stacked concrete apologies, flaking from rain and neglect. Cracks spidered out from old patchwork repairs, and the walls were stained with the slow drip of time.
As we pulled up to the complex, I could see the difference even from the car window.
This wasn't Lily's neighborhood.
It was worse.
The stairwells were exposed. The elevator blinked "Out of Service." Trash gathered in clumps near the base of the outer fence, drifting from bins that hadn't been emptied in weeks. Most windows had curtains or old sheets pinned up, and several had metal bars welded to the inside.
"Third floor," Jacob said as the cruiser screeched to a halt. "Unit 308!"
