PREVIEW
... aint dome of cold light, almost like frost trying to become a shape. To anyone else it would have looked like a heat-haze or a trick of breath in winter. To Mikhailis—because of the calibration behind his lenses—it was a map with bones and lungs and memory. The Whiteways were never still; even stone here seemed to breathe. The model showed that breathing: corridors flexing on the beat, tiny pulses like a heartbeat where the leyline ran thicker, and ghost-dots drifting where footsteps had been. < ...
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