“Der frühe Vogel fängt den Wurm.”
89%.
The Reavers didn’t shoot. They couldn’t. The Neo-Babels had armed them against violence, not against meaning. Kaelen walked past them, the data cylinder in his fist, the earpiece still murmuring grammar tables into his soul.
Outside, the sky was a bruised purple over the ruins of Frankfurt. Elara was waiting by a rusted hover-bike.
94%.
