## The Static Bloom The chipped Formica of the diner booth felt cold under Leo Maxwell’s elbows. Rain hammered against the plate glass window, blurring the neon glow of “Rosie’s” into smeared pink and blue. He hadn’t touched his coffee,…
## The Gradient The rain tasted metallic. Not a pleasant tang, more like licking rusted rebar after a storm. Elara spat it out, the droplets clinging to her chin like stubborn silver beads. Above, the bioluminescent canopy pulsed with a…
## The Grain of Memory The cabin exhaled Autumn. Beeswax clung to the air, a sweet counterpoint to the sharp tang of cedar plank. Dust motes danced in the slant of afternoon light, illuminating Elsie’s world. Not a pristine museum…