Page 53 - DivineSparkRising II-TheMirrorofSilenceFinal

Nicholas Boothman
Carolina snapped a rubber tourniquet from her
pocket and wrapped it around the gate’s latch, a
stupid move that made no sense until she pulled a
tiny battery from her analyzer and jammed its
terminals under the latex. The latch vibrated. It hit
a harmonic. The Redactor’s note missed the mark
by a hair.
The woman’s mirrored lenses turned a fraction,
hearing the flaw. She tasted the air like a snake.
Behind the lenses, her pupils must have been very
calm.
“Go,” Carolina said.
They ran into the maze of workshops and
foundry courtyards, through steam and the smell
of hot iron. The rain eased to a dense mist—the
kind Lisbon made when it had decided not to be a
city but a memory of one.
They didn’t stop until they reached the tramline
again and people and sound made them invisible.
4. The Reverse Thread
Back at Henry’s flat, they played the captures on
a loop at low volume. On the fourth pass,
something new breathed up between the clips—
three notes, then a pause—like a lullaby sung on a
dying battery.
Carolina sat forward. “Play that again.”
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