## The Static Bloom The salt-sting tasted like regret on Elias’s tongue. He hadn’t expected the air to *feel* this thick, not after weeks cycling through sterilization protocols. The retrieval ship’s bay doors hissed open, revealing a bruised violet sky…
## The Seam Rain lashed against the corrugated steel roof of the observation post. A relentless drumming that swallowed everything else except the low thrum vibrating through the soles of Elias Thorne’s boots. He tightened his grip on the data…
## 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…
## Echo Bloom The air tasted of static and regret. Elder traced a finger across the hull of the *Dust Moth*, its metal cool even through his worn gloves. Outside, the nebula bled purple and bruised orange, a cosmic bruise…
## The Static Bloom The dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight slicing through the greenhouse glass. Old Man Tiber, they called him, though nobody’d seen him truly *old*, just…worn. He adjusted the humidity gauge, his knuckles bone-white…
## The Bloom Room The chipped Formica tabletop felt cold under Elara’s elbows. Steam rose from her mug, smelling faintly of lavender and something metallic, like old pennies. She traced the rim with a fingertip, watching the condensation bead. Six…
The dust motes danced in the single shaft of light piercing the ruined temple. It smelled of wet stone and something else…something like burnt honey and regret. Old Man Tiber, they called him, though he wasn’t *that* old—more weathered, like…