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... ciousness. ’How far did we fall? How long was I out?’

He woke to the sound of water trying to become a heartbeat. ’Count it. Make the cave small. Make the pain smaller.’

Not a river—just a drip fattening on the lip of a stalactite, letting go, and breaking itself on stone. Between each fall there was grit shifting, the slow settling of a wound. ’We fell. The web sang, then the ceiling answered.’

’Water... Agh!’

Every breath tugged along his ribs like a splinter. < ...

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