## The Static Bloom The chipped Formica countertop smelled faintly of chlorine. Rain lashed against the corrugated metal roof of the research shack, a frantic drumming that nearly drowned out the hum of the bioreactors. Dr. Aris Thorne traced a…
## Echo Bloom The wind bit through Lena’s parka, a dry, insistent nibble. She adjusted her goggles, the world snapping into crisp focus – frozen tundra stretching to a horizon blurred by swirling snow. Not picturesque, not romantic. Just cold.…
## The Static Bloom The air tasted like ozone and old pennies. Not sharp, metallic, but *layered* – a taste that clung to the back of your throat. I adjusted the regulator on my breather mask, the hiss a small…
## The Static Bloom The salt spray stung Wren’s face, tasting like regret and old pennies. She tightened the hood of her oilskin jacket, scanning the gray churn of the Pacific. Not for ships. Never for ships. She watched for…
## The Static Between Flights The chipped Formica of the diner booth felt cold under Kaiya’s elbows. October light slanted through greasy windows, painting stripes across the vinyl. Another SAT score sheet lay crumpled in her bag – another perfect…