March 6
The Steamer is bigger now, as if it weren’t big enough before; it flows out from the part in his coat, spilling out into the world. If I didn’t know it was invisible to everyone else, I’d expect it to cause some panic. Even knowing this, I lean back in my chair. The thing is about the size of Reynolds’ head now, with the rage-red center about two-thirds of the size. It seems to be boiling away faster, and more vapor is coming off of it, wafting in front of his face. It smells now, too. I think by now you can guess how bad it is. I swallow the bit of puke that built up in my throat and blink away the tears.
“It’s bad, huh?” he asks. I nod silently, and he closes his coat. Instantly I feel better. “It’s not anything, well, physical,” he says, as I stare at where it had been. As big as the Steamer is now, it’s completely invisible under his coat. “This coat is… well, think of it like a bullet-proof vest for time. As long as I’m wearing it, I get a little more time. But it can only do so much.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It looked… well, the red part is definitely bigger now. It’s bad. Really bad.”
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