Greenglass

Saltmere drowned before June was born, and the city that rose from the flood learned only one language: concrete. Steel towers. Black tidewater running through dead street-canyons. And everywhere, the cold white eyes of Meridian drones, measuring the ruins, marking each condemned block with a hazard-orange gravestone and a date.

Sixteen-year-old Juniper Adeyemi survives the drowned Grey the only way anyone does — by taking what will grow again and leaving the rest seeding. She doesn't believe in dead things. She believes in what hasn't given up yet. It's a rule her mother left her, along with a gift she won't call a gift: she just listens harder than anyone else to the stubborn green struggling up through the cracks.

Then, high in a rotting housing block, June forces open a door edged in impossible warm light — and steps into the Greenglass. A blazing rooftop jungle beneath a shattered glass dome. Feral tomatoes and heavy citrus, orchids on iron ribs, actual birds startling into gold mist. Someone planted all this by hand, in rows, and then vanished. All that remains to tend it is GRAN — a failing garden-node with a fraying voice and a memory that loses the edges of things — who greets June like someone it has been waiting years to see. And below the dome sleeps the Ark: a heritage vault holding every seed this coast ever grew. Saltmere's living memory. Worth a fortune to a thief. Worth everything to a dying world.

But Meridian is already surveying Marigold Court. The reclaim date is set. And a weathered patrolman in a white skiff has watched the way June climbs, and thought he'd seen it before.

Greenglass is a lush, atmospheric graphic novel about resilience, belonging, and the wild beauty that refuses to be paved over — quietly fierce, richly imagined, and impossible to look away from.

Turn the page and watch the concrete learn to bloom.