The chipped ceramic of the teacup warmed Lyric’s palms, but did little for the chill burrowing into her bones. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of light slicing through the shuttered window. Valor hadn’t walked in months. Not since…
The chipped Formica felt cool under Leo’s palms. He kneaded, pushed, folded—each motion a futile attempt to work out the knot in his chest. Rye dough. It smelled like…everything. Like his grandmother’s kitchen, like Sundays, like a life he couldn’t…
The chipped basalt warmed beneath Falon’s palm. It wasn’t the stone itself, though ancient and weighty, but the feel of *him* woven into it—Elio. Centuries of silence clung to the giant’s legacy, a vow stretched taut until someone saw…what, exactly?…
The chipped Formica of the diner booth felt cold beneath Fi’s elbows. Steam rose from her coffee, blurring the fluorescent lights above. She watched the rain smear the city outside, mirroring the gray cloud hanging over Leo. “You look like…
The chrome of Neo-Kyoto slicked with perpetual drizzle. Rain wasn’t water anymore—nano-bots, designed to cleanse the air, but leaving a greasy film on everything. I navigated the market, dodging projections shimmering from every storefront. Old Christmases, graduations, first kisses—memories for…
The chipped ceramic of the mug warmed Leo’s hands, did little for the cold that settled deep in his bones. Rain lashed the window of the diner, mirroring the gray wash over everything he drew. He sketched, a gaunt figure…
The chipped Formica of the counter felt cool under Kenji’s palms. Dust motes danced in the single bare bulb hanging above. Outside, Tokyo exhaled a gritty sigh, a city still coughing up ash, even a year after the firestorms. He…
Elka traced the brittle edge of the parchment. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of light slicing the gloom of the archive. Each fragment felt less like paper, more like sun-warmed bone. She wasn’t *searching* for anything specific, not…