CHAPTER 18The inside of the mask—the face of the young man who lay on the gurney—appeared scored with thousands, perhaps millions, of fine lines configured in an intricate web that covered its surface. Running a thumb over them, Mara could not detect any ridges; they were that fine. Not something easily manufactured, without the use of sophisticated lasers and software, or maybe something even more advanced. Turning it over, she looked at the face. The detail was amazing. The light brown skin had pores, follicles of fine hair on the upper cheeks, thicker dark stubble as it approached the jawline. Its eyelids were closed. She grazed the eyelashes with a finger. They felt real. So did the thick brows.
She flipped the faceplate over again and looked at the inside of its eyelids. Turning back
