Shards of Earth (The Final Architecture, #1)

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

‘Not our fleas, not our circus,’ Solace added. Which, from their expressions, wasn’t a saying that had travelled outside the Parthenon.

Any human catching a ball must solve complex three-dimensional equations of space and velocity without conscious thought. And for Idris, this wasn’t much different.

‘That is entirely impossible,’ the doctor told him, spreading condescension like a rich man with butter.

It was a terribly witty, brave little line. She’d spent ages handcrafting it as she waited by his bedside. Now it came out ruined because her voice was shaking.