Bottom of the Funnel, 17: Martinmas

I spun slowly through space, cool air flowing around my shirt and trousers. Fabrics thin enough to be useful to me have absolutely no protective properties at all. They’re thinner than silk, basically gossamer.

The stairwell rotated around me as I turned heels over head. The staircase was empty except for the tall, dark shape of Percy. He smirked at me as I‌ fell. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to burst out laughing, though I’m sure he wanted to, because if there was someone else nearby that he didn’t see, and if they could peg his cruel laughter to a specific time, that would be damaging in an investigation into what happened to Software Dance’s Anthropole copywriter. He held stupid prejudices, but he wasn’t stupid.

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