## The Echo Weaver The fluorescent hum of Dr. Anya Sharma’s office tasted like stale coffee and anxiety. Rain hammered against the panoramic window, blurring the Seattle skyline into a watercolor wash of gray. Across from her, Leo Maxwell fidgeted…
## Echo Bloom The wind tasted of rust and regret. Elara knelt, fingers tracing the skeletal branches of a petrified oak. Its leaves hadn’t fallen. They *became* stone, smooth and grey against her palm. Ten days. That’s how long it…
## The Cartographer’s Echo Dust motes danced in the violet shafts slicing through Old Man Tiber’s workshop. The light, fractured seven ways over Aestinwy’s sun prisms, tasted like ozone and regret. I ran a thumb across the vellum stretched taut…