kanmanir

“remembering. The music had carried her away, to another time and another place, when she was young and in love and the future still sparkled with possibility. Somewhere on the hillside a dog barked and jolted her from her reverie. Adrienne turned her head toward the window, filled now with the blue dark of evening. She stood and moved to the glass and stared out into the dusk. Color faded from the sky. Stars winked in the canyons. Lights in the houses on the hillside flickered to life, bathing the windows with gold and spilling out into the streets. She could hear them—families gathering”
― Elizabeth Hall, Miramont's Ghost

“How much of the crew has been awakened?” “Only eight, counting us.” They reach the automatic glass doors that open into the five-million-square-foot cavern that serves as a warehouse for provisions and building supplies. Affectionately called “the ark,” it is one of the great feats of human engineering and ambition. A damp, mineralized smell pervades. Massive globe lights hang down from the ceiling, stretching back into the ark as far as the eye can see. They walk toward a Humvee parked at the entrance to a tunnel, and already Pilcher is breathless, his legs threatening to seize up with cramps.”
― Blake Crouch, The Last Town

“shallow bitch.” I nodded. That was for sure. People who didn’t want to stay and raise their kids shouldn’t have kids. Which was exactly why I would never have kids. I’d be a terrible father. “All in all, she seems pretty well-adjusted.” Marjorie nodded. “Jade’s the best. Best friend a girl could have. She has certainly helped me through”
― Helen Hardt, Craving

“bustling. Now Abandon looms listless before him in the gloom of late afternoon, streets empty, snow banked high against the unshoveled plank sidewalks, no tracks as far as he can see. The cabins scattered across the lower slopes lie buried to their chimneys, and with not a one of them smoking, the air smells too clean. Brady is a man at home in solitude, often spending days on the trail, alone in wild, quiet places, but this silence is all wrong—a lie. He feels menaced by it, and with each passing moment, more certain that something has happened here. A wall of dark clouds scrapes over the peaks, and snowflakes begin to speck the sleeves of his slicker. Here comes the wind. Chimes clang together over the doorway of”
― Blake Crouch, Abandon