They knelt. No drones filmed them. No Logos runners logged the prayer. They were just two flawed, unaugmented creatures in a dusty room.
Her name was Kaelen. She was twenty-two, dressed in the silver skinsuit of a corporate "Logos" runner—one of those who hunted for intellectual property violations in the data-stream. But her eyes were red-rimmed, hollow. Not from exhaustion. From grief. neo-miracle
Matteo’s blood went cold. "Yes."