Soryo's illustration style has always amazed me. It shines no matter her subject matter, from teen melodrama in "Mars" to the horror sci-fi of "Eternal Sabbath." I think it's in the details. There's a meticulous, almost mechanical precision to her depictions of buildings, guns, clothing. But then there's a strong sense of humanity.
There's a moment I love in this book, when the main character is waiting for two of the others to return. There's been a tense stand-off with the police and she's not sure if her friends are going to return. She hears a knock on the door and throws it open. And there they are, unharmed, pants rolled up, shoes in their hands. I can't even describe the looks on their faces. It's a mixture of chagrin and annoyance, but it's absolutely perfect.
Soryo knows when to insert a bit of levity into an intense plot. The characters are up against a being with almost limitless power and no moral conscience. They all, in different ways, are responsible for this monstrosity, who walks around with the face of a child. And it gets more intense in the next few books, as the personal stakes are raised, which becomes just as important as the larger fate of humanity.