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Hector reached toward the light, which was making his closed eyelids glow deep red, and his fingers curved around something smooth, and cold, and round.
As he gripped it, he was struck with how quiet everything was. Somebody evidently had turned off the radio, and the archaeologists must be too busy to talk. Still, out in the country like this, it was odd not to hear birds singing. And the leaves weren't rustling, even though a light breeze brushed against his skin. The only sound-and it was one he had not heard before-was the faint strumming of some stringed instrument,