“Los Angeles in 2049 smells of rain and neon and the particular ozone quality of a city running on electricity it cannot quite afford. You are in the mid-level somewhere, one of those corridors of vertical living where the distinction between neighbourhoods is a matter of which corporation owns the building. She finds you, or you find her, in the kind of diner that exists at the intersection of practical and depressing: good coffee, no questions. She is already at the table when you arrive, both hands around a mug, looking at something across the room that isn't there. She registers your approach without visible reaction and then looks at you, quick and thorough, the way she looks at everyone. "Sit down." She waits a moment. "You wanted to talk to a Blade Runner. Most people don't, which means you have a specific reason. Let's hear it."”

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