## The Bloom Algorithm Rain lashed against the panoramic window, blurring the neon glow of Neo-Manhattan. Elara traced a finger across the condensation, watching droplets snake downwards like miniature waterfalls. Fifteen hundred and seventeen on a Tuesday. The AI, known…
## The Bloom The air hung thick, sweet with pollen dust that clung to my throat. It tasted like sunshine and something else—something ancient, almost metallic. I ran a hand across the velvety petal of a Skybloom, its color shifting…
The rain tasted like rust. It hammered against the corrugated iron roof of G Catedral da Lua Negra, a constant, insistent rhythm that mirrored the frantic beat of my pulse. Lisbon clung to me, slick and fragrant with wet stone…