But the daytime is quiet. A little too quiet, maybe, and Riccin frowns, looking around. Sure enough, there's kids at the windows of their hivestem, their curtains open and outlines blurred behind the tinted glass. They're not looking down at them, though.
Their faces are angled up, towards the next block over.
"Hold it," Riccin says, irritable. The kid is acting like this is a fucking emergency, but none of them are cullbait: they're wearing the Shepherd's symbol, emblazoned bold as brass on the back of their suncloak, and Marduk seems like the sort of dumbass that could rattle off her imperial signature in her sleep. "It's a culling sweep. So what?"
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But the daytime is quiet. A little too quiet, maybe, and Riccin frowns, looking around. Sure enough, there's kids at the windows of their hivestem, their curtains open and outlines blurred behind the tinted glass. They're not looking down at them, though.
Their faces are angled up, towards the next block over.
"Hold it," Riccin says, irritable. The kid is acting like this is a fucking emergency, but none of them are cullbait: they're wearing the Shepherd's symbol, emblazoned bold as brass on the back of their suncloak, and Marduk seems like the sort of dumbass that could rattle off her imperial signature in her sleep. "It's a culling sweep. So what?"