The London Mutation
The water rose in 2087, and London did not sink. It adapted. Maya Kato remembered the last time she had walked on dry ground. She was twelve, or maybe thirteen—the years blur when you spend them in a flooded city, counting time in tides rather than birthdays. She remembered the evacuation busses, the orange life jackets that made children look like traffic cones, the way her mother held her...
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