Light shone out, caught the dark glitter of the Partial's skin where tiny fruiting bodies had taken hold. It's all in here." He pointed into the doorway. Even before he'd started seeing Sintra, his place hadn't looked this bad. Didn't look like anyone had slept there in months. Inside, a tall, pale man dressed in black stood halfway down the hall, staring into a doorway. Boots heavy on his feet.Īlways a point of no return, and yet he kept returning. Sweating under his jacket, through his shirt. The left side rough with light green fungus. Some days were worse than others.Ī sudden flash of his partner Wyte, telling him he was compromised, him replying, "I don't have an opinion on that." Written on a wall at a crime scene: Everyone's a collaborator. Reached for his gun, then changed his mind. Now he had only the door to pass through, marked with the gray caps' symbol.Īn act of will, crossing that divide. Red smear on a limp circle of green fungal paper that had minutes before squirmed clammy. The message that'd brought him from the station was already dying in his hand. Inch, at the apartment door, breathing heavy from five flights of stairs, taken fast.
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