The same cables
But not all were old. Among the barnacle-crusted tangles, others gleamed dark and pristine, untouched by salt or time. These were fresh, clearly active, humming faintly with unseen energy. Judy’s stomach sank as she counted them—ten, twelve, closer to twenty, twisting upward into the belly of the structure. The sight was unmistakable. These were the same kinds of cables buried in the sand beneath her beach. The proof stood before her now, undeniable.
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