From above, from her brain, three asteroids rain down and slam into the City's floating chunk, causing a brief and violent earthquake. Dead silence echoes as the dust settles, and then a violet mist rushes from the fallen space rocks. This mist runs through the remains of the City, darting and seeking individuals to infect before it dissipates into something minuscule and no longer potent. Its particles are of Atropos's design, and it feels sharp and biting upon inhalation. If you breathe this in, for the next day you will feel the need to confess to other imPorts what you think is true — but not what necessarily is true. Your confessions might be colored by fear, or confusion, or misinterpretation. How well do you know your own heart? How soundly can you trust your own mind?