Hold for ten seconds.
Jun clamped the paperclip between his teeth— bad idea, very bad idea —grabbed the battery with his left hand, and slammed it home.
The LED ring flashed red. Once. Twice. Three times. The drone’s frame began to shake, a low growl building in its chassis.
“Jun. The package smells like lilacs. Lilacs mean the sender is lying.”
Reinsert battery while holding.
Then, so quietly he almost missed it: “Lilacs, Jun. Still lilacs.”
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