Sunspire

A radical solar project could save the planet—or doom it forever. When New York's Sunspire hums to life above the harbor, systems engineer Alexandra Reed believes they've built more than a power source—they've built a promise. On the ground, Gabe Mercer, a union foreman with steady hands and a stubborn code, turns blueprints into anchors. At the mic, Amina Rhodes, a community organizer and flood survivor, demands equity with the same ferocity she demands safety. But a city this alive has enemies intimate as weather. Anonymous drones, mirrored barges, and precision whispers in the code test the beam's discipline—and the team's. As heatwaves, blackouts, and political theater converge, Sunspire becomes the fulcrum of a new social contract: keep the lights on, and share the power—literally and politically. Every decision is a fuse: how much risk to carry, how much trust to extend, how much authority to give back to the neighborhoods that have paid the oldest bills. Sunspire is climate fiction that refuses easy apocalypse. It's a near-future, high-stakes story where competence is thrilling, transparency is rebellious, and hope is a muscle built in public. The novel moves from control rooms to council chambers, from rooftops to storm-dark stairwells, weaving human drama with plausible tech—orbital solar arrays, rectennas, islanding protocols—and the messy grace of governance. As sabotage escalates and winter bares its teeth, Alex, Gabe, and Amina must choose what to sacrifice: capacity or safety, speed or consent, victory or belonging. Their answer—hammered out across long nights, failed fixes, and a city that won't stop arguing—surprises even them. Cinematic and tender, Sunspire turns infrastructure into intimacy and proves that ordinary miracles are built, defended, and shared. If you've ever loved a city enough to fight for its best self, this story will feel like standing under a hard, bright sky and hearing it hum back.