The air reeked of burnt herbs and gunpowder as Clara pressed her back against the timber wall, fingers tightening around the vial in her pocket. The farmhouse loomed ahead, its windows dark, but she could hear the muffled voices through…
The air inside the pod was thin, sharp with the metallic tang of recycled oxygen. Captain Mara Voss adjusted her visor, her gloved fingers brushing the cold polymer of the control panel. Outside, the planet’s surface stretched in jagged ridges…
Dr. Elara Voss had not spoken to anyone in three years when she found the creature. The lab was a cathedral of sterile silence, its walls lined with glass chambers housing specimens that never moved. She had abandoned the outside…
The air reeked of iron and damp earth as Eleanor knelt beside the cot, her fingers brushing the fevered brow of a young soldier. The camp stretched behind her, a labyrinth of canvas tents and wagons, the acrid tang of…
Clara’s hands trembled as she pressed the cold iron rail against her palm, its jagged edge biting into her skin. The wind howled through the valley, carrying the acrid stench of coal smoke and the distant clang of a far-off…
The first time James saw the note, the air smelled of sulfur and damp earth. It lay crumpled in the mud near his tent, ink smudged by rain. He picked it up, fingers trembling, and unfolded the paper with a…
The air reeked of iron and damp earth as Clara knelt beside the cot, her hands steady despite the chaos around her. The surgeon’s blade gleamed under the flickering lantern, slicing through a soldier’s mangled leg with a sound like…
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 chipped ceramic of the mug warmed Leo’s palms, a pathetic comfort. Below, the city breathed a bruised purple, a constant twilight born of stacked hab-blocks and light-dampening polymers. He hadn’t spoken to his sister, Clara, in seventy-two cycles. Seventy-two…
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…