“Beckett?” she wondered.
“Paul.”
“No. The sim. Missing Beckett.”
“Oh. Correct.”
—–
“Muse is a key word here,” she mused aloud later, perhaps for me but also others listening in, the prescient, the psychic. Like our damaged friend Kolya. There he is. Listening in.
“Hi big boy. I’m over here now.”
Sunklands 