The girl looked up. “You startled me there,” she said, raking a tattoo-covered hand through a shock of pink locks as she squinted with suspicion. “What do you need?”
Orec took another step toward her, careful not to lose his balance. “What I need is a technician to fix this vexatious machine. What I want is your assistance in finding my friend’s family.”
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"The paradox of the gods is that, for us, they don’t matter."
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