The portrait of the Devourer
The lab hummed at thirty thousand feet, a glass blister bolted to the spine of the Himalayas like a fly in amber. Julian Vane stood before the sequencer, its LED heartbeat casting a cold aquamarine pallor across his face. He was forty years old, though he had begun to suspect that age was a fiction invented by those who had not yet read their own code. His genetic results lay open on the screen...
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