PREVIEW
... heat settle under her collarbones. It was the right kind of warmth, not heavy, not sleepy. She wiped the rim of the wooden cup with her thumb and set it down on the flat stone beside the chair. Habit took over. Her eyes walked the room like a patrol.
Things had changed while she slept. Fresh trip-threads lay across the mouth of the slot—Tangle hairs, finely braided, almost invisible unless you knew where to look. Noise baffles covered the worst echo corners; Slime had spread there in car ...
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