“That sounds good.”
Marco traced the café’s cracked tile floor with his shoe. Beneath it, if you listened close enough, you could hear the city’s other heartbeat: the deep pumps, the ancient water trains, the slow groan of forgotten levels settling into the aquifer. Internapoli had been built on top of itself seven times. Each layer was a graveyard of ambition. internapoli city
“You went,” she said.