The Recombination Index
The water in the flooded atrium of what was once the National Gallery had risen another three centimetres overnight. Kaelen Venn dipped his hand into the cold murk and watched his subdermal gill-slits pulse open, filtering oxygen from the brackish soup. He counted the slits. Seven on each side of his neck now. Last month there had been six. He pulled his hand out and the slits sealed themselves...
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