The air in Neo-Glaze didn't smell like berries anymore; it smelled like parched earth and the stinging ghost of burnt sugar.

Dulcet tightened a bolt on her licorice-whip grappling hook, the rubbery cord resisting her crystalline fingers.

Around her, the workshop groaned as the humidity levels plummeted. A bead of condensation, precious as a diamond, evaporated off her forearm before she could even track its path.