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... sound—pressure. The street under our boots buckled, then settled like a giant took a slow breath beneath the Gate district. Barricade pylons rattled in their housings. A dead tram shivered on its tracks and vomited sparks. The crater’s rim sloughed a meter inward with a noise like concrete chewing ice.
"Line stays tight!" Raene snapped. "Shields front—two-deep!"
Hana’s threads flared, a crisp snow of blue light leaping between sheared lamp posts and mangled coil housings. Jax dro ...
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