The Zephyr-X9's engine growled as Freya navigated the dusty road to the abandoned wind farm, 20 miles north of the Haven, the quarry's jagged outline looming in the distance.
The air was thick with grit, the rusted turbines creaking in the wind, their blades frozen in decay, the ground littered with broken concrete and twisted rebar.
Freya, in her icy blue bodysuit, her mask covering everything below her eyes, gripped the wheel, her white cape fluttering.
Rhea, lounging in the passenger seat, her orange and black bodysuit pulsing with ember-like flares, her full-face black mask glinting, cracked her knuckles.
Lila sat in the back, her loose gown swishing, her glasses glinting, her power-suppressing collar off, her shadows coiling faintly at her feet, her face tense but focused.
"Ready for a windstorm?" Rhea asked, her voice muffled by her mask, her grin audible, the Zephyr's leather seats creaking as she shifted.
