The air smelled of antiseptic and metal. Her fingers brushed against the cold steel of the examination table. A flickering fluorescent light hummed above her, casting jagged shadows across the white walls. She had no name, no memory of how…
Dr. Elias Voss had always preferred the silence of his lab to the noise of the world. The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to the air, mingling with the faint ozone hum of machinery. His hands, stained with ink and…
Dr. Lila Voss adjusted the sterile gloves on her hands, the latex creaking as she leaned over the steel table. The neural implant sat in a glass vial, its surface glinting under the overhead lights like a shard of obsidian.…
Dr. Elara Voss had always preferred the hum of her lab’s oscillators to the chatter of people. The air smelled of ozone and old coffee, a scent she’d grown so accustomed to that it no longer registered. Her fingers trembled…
Dr. Elara Voss had never trusted mirrors. Not since the day she’d stared into one and seen a stranger’s face staring back—pale, hollow-eyed, lips parted in a silent scream. The reflection had vanished by morning, but the memory lingered, a…
The lab smelled like antiseptic and static, a scent that clung to Mara’s skin even after she left. She’d been working under Dr. Voss for three years, but nothing prepared her for the day Kael walked in—his eyes the color…
The lab’s air reeked of antiseptic and static, a metallic tang that clung to the back of her throat. She sat upright, fingers brushing cold polymer, and stared at the ceiling’s sterile white. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, a…
Dr. Elara Voss adjusted the goggles over her eyes, the sterile hum of the lab filling her ears. The subject, a man named Kael, sat across from her, his fingers twitching against the steel table. His pupils dilated as she…
The air in the chamber tasted metallic, like old coins and rusted pipes. Subject 17 lay on the steel table, wrists bound to cold metal loops, eyes fixed on the flickering overhead light. The hum of machines droned in their…
## The Static Bloom Dust tasted like regret. Old metal, pulverized bone, the ghost of rain that hadn’t fallen in decades. Wren coughed, pulling her bandana tighter across her nose. The sun, a bruised plum low on the horizon, bled…
The rain in New Seattle tasted like static. It slicked the neon signs of Lower Meridian and drummed a persistent rhythm against the corrugated iron roofs. I gripped the damp edge of the Skywalk, my boots kicking up a spray…
The rain hammered the redwood cliffs, a relentless percussion against the grey sea. Steam curled from the copper tubs overflowing with fragrant herbs and bruised berries at Blackwood Springs. Inside, Silas traced circles on the condensation-slicked glass with a calloused…
The rain tasted like salt and regret. I watched it sheet down the corrugated iron roof of the Fisherman’s Rest, a pub clinging to the edge of Valoria, a village that seemed determined to dissolve back into the bruised grey…
The rain tasted like salt and regret. I watched it sheet down the corrugated iron roof of the Fisherman’s Rest, a pub clinging to the edge of Valoria, a village that seemed determined to dissolve back into the bruised grey…