Elena Hect

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It was hard to look at, and Nine Hibiscus didn’t know why—some of that recoiling, squirming visual distortion clung to it, made the grey metal of its hull seem oil-slick and unfocused. It had been not-there, and now it was there. Right up on Knifepoint’s tail, just as fast, and closing—
A Desolation Called Peace (Teixcalaan, #2)
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