"Your core temperature has dropped another two degrees, Architect," the Voice echoed, the psychic frequency buzzing with clinical disapproval. "You have been lying on this freezing granite for forty-eight hours. The ambient void-ether in the mist below is beginning to eat through the outer layers of your leather armor."
"Keep your voice down," Elian whispered through chapped, bloodless lips. He didn't move a single muscle, his body pressed entirely flat against the steep, jagged ridge of the cliff.
"I am communicating via direct neural link," the Voice retorted dryly. "Volume is entirely conceptual. But your physical deterioration is factual. If you do not move to restore circulation, you will lose function in your extremities."
"If I move, they will see me," Elian replied, his eyes nar
