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... remaining.
I knew these numbers the way you know your own heartbeat, constant and inescapable, counting down to something that would either save reality or end it.
We were standing in what used to be a textile factory in Mumbai, the thirty-eighth rift pulsing angry and purple-black in the center of the production floor. Around us, fifteen coalition hunters from Seoul and Tokyo cells were fighting seventy enforcers while trying not to collapse from exhaustion.
They’d been ...
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