Echoes in Concrete & Lace

The city breathes rust. It always has, even before the storms came.
They say she's a ghost, this woman who haunts the edges of my vision. A flicker of silk in a world of patched canvas.
I saw her first near the old market square, bartering for fuel cells with eyes that held the grey weight of forgotten skies. She offered a chipped porcelain doll—a relic from before—and I almost… almost traded something precious to hold what she held.
Now, it’s just glances across rain-slicked streets. The way her coat collar frames the curve of her neck when she turns towards the weak sunlight. A silent acknowledgement in this broken world.
Tonight, though... tonight was different. She paused, a shadow lengthening between us. Her hand brushed mine as she reached for a discarded datapad, and static crackled through my veins. It wasn't warmth I felt, not exactly. More like the hum of dormant machinery sputtering back to life.
A dangerous spark in this wasteland we call living. One that could get you burned.

Editor: Rusty Cog