The city of Greyline never truly slept.It only dimmed—like a dying monitor, flickering between states of awareness.
Neon advertisements buzzed above the streets, their light reflecting off rain-soaked concrete and rusted metal. Somewhere in the distance, a mag-train screamed along its rail, the sound stretching thin and metallic as it vanished into the upper districts. The air smelled of ozone and burnt circuitry, mixed with something older—dust and decay that no amount of technology could erase.
Sixteen-year-old Elias Vance stood on the balcony of his apartment block, hands gripping the corroded railing as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.
The static was back.
It always came at night.
Not the kind that came from broken speakers or damaged comm units—Elias knew that sound well enough. This static was softer, layered beneath the city's noise, whispering instead of screaming. It crept into his skull like an unfinished thought, pulsing just behind his ears.
He exhaled slowly, counting his breaths like the clinic had taught him.
"One… two… three…"
The sound didn't fade.
"Of course it doesn't," he muttered.
Elias had been weak his entire life. Not just physically—though that was part of it—but in ways people couldn't easily measure. He got sick often. His stamina was poor. His neural readings were always "inconclusive," which was medical shorthand for wrong, but not wrong enough to fix.
In Greyline, weakness was expensive.
Behind him, the apartment door slid open with a hydraulic hiss.
"You're up again."
The voice belonged to Mara Vance, his older sister. She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, her combat jacket still on despite the late hour. Her dark hair was pulled back tightly, as if she were always ready to move, to fight, to leave.
Elias didn't turn."Couldn't sleep."
Mara snorted. "You never can."
She stepped onto the balcony, boots heavy against the metal floor. Unlike Elias, she looked like she belonged in Greyline—sharp eyes, strong posture, the kind of presence that made people step aside without realizing why.
She glanced at the thin medical band wrapped around Elias's wrist, its faint blue light pulsing.
"Static again?" she asked.
Elias hesitated.
"…Yeah."
Mara's jaw tightened, just for a moment. "You should tell the doctors."
"And have them run the same scans for the tenth time?" Elias said quietly. "So they can tell me I'm stressed and prescribe more sleep stabilizers?"
She didn't answer immediately.
The city stretched out before them, layered and endless. Above the slums rose the mid-sectors, and above those, the corporate spires—clean, distant, untouchable. Somewhere up there, decisions were made that determined who lived comfortably and who merely survived.
Mara finally spoke. "You know the rules. Anything unusual—"
"Everything about me is unusual," Elias cut in, then stopped himself. "Sorry."
Mara sighed. "I'm not mad. I'm worried."
That worried him more than anger ever could.
Elias looked down at his hands. They shook slightly—not from fear, but from exhaustion. He felt like something inside him was constantly straining against a boundary he couldn't see or understand.
"I hear things," he said suddenly.
Mara stiffened. "Hear things how?"
"Not voices. Not words." He searched for the right description. "It's like… echoes. Like the city is talking to something behind it."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Mara placed a hand on his shoulder. Her grip was firm, grounding. "Elias, listen to me. Whatever's happening—don't talk about it outside this apartment. Not at school. Not online. Especially not to corporate medics."
He frowned. "Why?"
She met his eyes, and for the first time that night, he saw fear there—real fear, carefully buried beneath discipline.
"Because Greyline doesn't fix things that don't fit," she said. "It studies them. Or it erases them."
A distant thunder rolled across the sky, though the forecast had promised clear weather.
The static surged—louder than ever.
Elias gasped, gripping the railing as the sound spiked, images flashing at the edge of his vision: fractured streets, collapsing lights, shadows moving where they shouldn't exist.
Then—nothing.
The city returned to normal. The noise, the light, the weight of reality settled back into place.
Elias's heart pounded.
Mara steadied him. "What did you feel?"
He swallowed. "Like something noticed me."
Above them, unseen by either sibling, a surveillance drone altered its patrol route—just slightly—its sensors lingering a fraction of a second longer on Balcony Unit 47-B.
And far beyond Greyline, in a place untouched by rain or neon, something ancient stirred in response.
The echo had found its source.