Hinnom is too close, close enough that you can smell the cluckbeast they ate for breakfast, and you are entirely unhappy with the way their forehead is pressed against yours. The only thing that keeps you from recoiling is the fact their eyes are baby gray and harmless, and the fact that this contact might be the difference between living and dying.

It's still terrible, though.

"Don't listen to her," you hiss at Hinnom. If you weren't holding their hand, you'd clamp your fronds over their sponges, just in case. It's got to work, and if Riccin fucks this up, you'll bash in their stupid head before the drones take off yours.

You don't feel any difference yet, but maybe Hinnom isn't thinking hard enough - or maybe that's how psychics work. You didn't have a warning with Rmeros, either, and with that thoroughly unsettling thought in mind, you start pushing on your psionics.

You don't know the city, and your spatial awareness is entirely fucked, for all that it's gotten better: you can feel Riccin stepping forward behind you, and the empty space of the sewers below, but the buildings might as well be pencil thin for all the impression they're leaving. If you jump now, you're likely to end up in the river, or in front of a cart, or vivisected by an unexpected wall, but even that would be better than just waiting to die.