They have been walking for three hours and have exchanged perhaps forty words.That is the part Maya finds unsettling.Not the silence. Maya is perfectly comfortable with silence. She has invented several excellent ones herself.It is the ease of it.With anyone else, three hours of quiet becomes something that requires maintenance. A held breath, a low electrical hum of who is going to speak first, the conversational equivalent of carrying a tray full of glasses and pretending not to notice.With Eli, silence is weather.They move through the dead suburb toward the facility LUS flags from the intercept, dividing the road without discussing it. Eli reads the left side. Maya takes the right. They check doors, windows, rooftops, sight lines. Neither asks what the other is doing because each already knows.The lack of friction is so complete Maya keeps prodding at it mentally, the way a tongue worries a loose tooth.Anyth
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