The Faded Sutra
The glass box in the center of the plaza was not a shelter, but a cage of light. It stood in the middle of the grey pavement of New London, a pristine, hexagonal prism of reinforced crystal and brushed steel, humming with a low-frequency vibration that you could feel in your teeth before you heard it. You stood before it, your breath pluming in the sharp autumn air, your fingers white-knuckled...
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