Mist, perhaps? But there was too much solidity about those rising forms for that. Like when people move to cities, their birthrate drops. Michael Poole stroked its surface with a gloved hand. She uncapped her water bottle and poured water over the herb—it looked like a blade of grass—rubbing it between her forefinger and thumb to scrub at it.
”“Not legal here,” he said neutrally. The latest crackle in his head resolves into a calm, sweetly reasonable voice. “Remember what the doctors have said. “Braz … it’s happening.
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