It’s night outside, though no one in the dome has seen the sky for hours. Exhausted, the group unfurls their bedrolls and builds a fire from some meagre kindling, carried in from outdoors. Cang takes first watch, dusting the concrete powder from his warhammer’s grooves. Stealing a glance at Fassn, sleeping deeply, Cang takes a sniff of the powder, recoils from its acrid scent. He blows it away and stares into the darkness, kept barely at bay by the sputtering fire.