## The Static Between Stars The chipped Formica of the diner booth felt cold under Leo Klein’s elbows. July 19th, 1985. Cologne tasted like weak coffee and regret. Rain hammered against the plate glass window, blurring Alfredstrasse into streaks of…
## Hollow Bloom The dust tasted like static. Old metal, older regret. Jessa ran a gloved hand along the hull of the *Artemis*, the chipped paint flaking off like dead skin. The ship wasn’t derelict, not exactly. More… asleep. Decades…
## The Scent Collector The salt spray tasted like regret. Elias Thorne, botanist and reluctant ghost-hunter of forgotten smells, gripped the rail of the *Althea*, his knuckles bone-white. The Aegean churned grey beneath a bruised sky, mirroring the static in…