Elias sat. The chair was too small, child-sized, his knees brushing the table's underside. He'd been a Proxy for eleven years. He'd delivered ultimatums to presidents, carried sealed whispers into volcanoes, once held a dying star in his bare hands until it agreed to go dark. But instant noodles at 3 AM—that was the hardest.
"Yes," Zalmos agreed. He reached over and gently touched Elias's wrist. "But you won't need a body where you're going. You'll need something else." zalmos proxy
"And what's that?"
"You're late," he said.
"You recalled me at 3 AM."
"To whom?"