Outside, Manhattan grew as the Hudson shrank—the city, always in flux, always the same. Blade Towers monopolized the architectural style: taller, thinner, some steel, others grown from modern composites. It was spectacular. Orange low-energy lighting picked out the streets—at first an organic jumble like frayed rope—then a strong grid as the Hopper flew north. The private towers crowded each other like blades of grass, dark at their armored podiums, then brighter the higher they rose. Light had become the latest display of wealth—energy an expensive and rare resource. Most of the five boroughs sat in darkness as their occupants huddled around feeble lamps while Manhattan blazed with brilliant light. She saw empty duplex apartments lit like beacons. Entire floors glowed like sports arenas with no one home, the light caught in the dirt and scratches of the Hopper's canopy. The separation between the streets and the skies grew day by day.