The Surrogate’s Blade
It is shaped like a tall man and it moves like nothing human and like nothing the grey ones were either, no hitches, no recovery gaps, but also none of the syrup-slow readability I get from human motion when I drop into silvered time.
When I sink into the Well to read it, to find its tells, the whole room thickens and slows for everything in it except the white shape, which stays exactly as fast and as fluid as it was, because it is running on my own clock, thinking in my own frequency, and you cannot slow down a thing that lives at the same speed you do.
For the first time all night my edge is simply gone. I cannot out-read a thing that reads time the way I read it.
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