## The Static Bloom The chipped Formica countertop smelled of old coffee and regret. Leo traced the ring stain with a calloused thumb, ignoring the persistent drizzle drumming against the corrugated metal roof. Outside, the sprawl of Neo-Austin blurred into…
## 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…
## Echo Bloom The chipped Formica of the diner booth stuck to Leo Maxwell’s elbows. Rain smeared the neon glow of “Rosie’s” across the windshield. He hadn’t touched his coffee, just stirred it, watching the steam curl like a phantom…
## 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 Bloom Echo The chipped Formica of the diner booth felt cold under Leo Maxwell’s elbows. Rain lashed against the plate glass window, blurring the neon sign of ‘Rosie’s’ into a smeared crimson halo. Ten years. A decade spent…
## 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 Static Bloom The chipped Formica of the diner booth felt cold under Leo Maxwell’s elbows. Rain lashed against the window, blurring the neon glow of “Rosie’s” into smeared pink and blue. He hadn’t touched his coffee, the steam…
## The Bloom Weaver Dust motes danced in the shaft of sunlight slicing through the grimy window. Old Man Tiber, they called him, though he couldn’t have been more than sixty, lived in the husk of what used to be…
## 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…
## 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…