## The Echo Bloom The rain tasted like pennies on Leo’s tongue. He hunched deeper into the doorway of Mrs. Petrov’s antique shop, the neon sign buzzing a frantic lullaby above him. It was late October in Portland—that particular damp,…
## Echo Bloom The rain tasted like wet slate. Not the clean, metallic tang of a storm brewing, but the aged mineral taste of something ancient, unearthed. Elara spat, pushing a strand of damp auburn hair from her face. The…
## The Bloom & the Blade The scent of dried chrysanthemum and aged paper clung to Mei’s fingers. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight slicing through the high window of the Imperial Library’s Annex. She traced a…
## Dust & Chrome The Lockheed Electra shuddered, a metal bird fighting the Gulf Coast chop. Amelia traced the coastline with a gloved finger on the sectional chart, her gaze distant. Not toward Florida, not today. South. Far south. The…
## The Chroma Archive Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight slicing through the arched window. Elias Thorne, a man built like weathered oak and smelling faintly of old paper, ran a calloused thumb across the spine of…
## The Glass & the Ghost Light The chipped enamel of Esme’s mug warmed her palms. Rain lashed against the corrugated iron roof, a drumbeat mirroring the thrum in her skull. She traced the hairline fracture spiderwebbing across the porcelain,…
## The Static Bloom Dust motes danced in the single shaft of light slicing through the gloom. Elouise traced a finger across the unfinished cheekbone of her latest sculpture, clay cool and yielding. It was supposed to be a boy,…