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... -Five: The Synaptic Threshold and the Afterglow of Catastrophe
I cradled Crystal’s doll-like body in my arms for what felt like a warped eternity — two minutes, precisely, by internal clock, though subjectively stretched by adrenaline, guilt, and the throbbing ambient pulse of the hivemind. She had yet to recover. Her borrowed vessel was limp, breathless, all too eerily still. I hadn’t meant to do this. Not like this.
I’d touched her open psionic link — gently, reverently, loving ...
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