At dusk he wrapped the core in foam salvaged from old insulation, cradled it like a sleeping animal, and walked to the paper mill. The mill was quiet; loafs of steam ghosted from its vents. He slipped the box back under the tarp where he had found it and tamped down the edges with stones. The sigil did not glow as he left; the hum was only a memory in his teeth.
"I know what the ratio is!" he yelled, detaching his boots to sprint along the narrow maintenance ledge.
