The Flux Exchange hung in orbit like a bloated metal wheel, its decks packed with traders from every faction still standing after the plague. Lights flickered across massive market boards showing live resonance values. Currency here was not credits or data.
It was raw essence—memories and emotions charged with personal power, bottled and traded in glowing vials or streamed directly through matching platforms.
Purity Front agents had spent the last three days flooding the public floor with suppressed-hunger bonds. Clean, stable, but flat. League assets were crashing. The family had arrived under neutral banners to push back.
Sabrina stood on the main trading floor, mark pulsing under her skin. She wore a fitted black suit that left her arms bare, practical for the work ahead.
Traders shouted bids around her. She read the crowd the way she once read battlefields—quick shifts in posture, eye flicks, the subtle thrum of resonance in their voices.
