## The Echo Bloom The rain tasted like rust on Elara’s tongue. She stood beneath the awning of O’Malley’s Diner, watching droplets smear across the neon sign. Inside, the aroma of burnt coffee and frying bacon battled with a lingering…
## The Chroma Bloom The humid New York air clung to Leo like a second skin as he hurried past the boarded-up bookstore on Bleecker Street. He didn’t register the peeling paint, the faded lettering proclaiming “Rare & Obscure.” He…
## Echo Bloom The rain tasted like static on my tongue. Not the sharp bite of ozone, but a dull hum, layered under the city’s grit. January in Detroit always felt like a slow unraveling. I pulled my collar higher,…
## Dustfall The wind tasted of iron and something else—something old, like dried leaves pressed between the pages of a forgotten book. Elias ran a gloved hand over the corrugated metal wall, feeling the faint tremor beneath his palm. Project…
## The Longwave Echo The dust tasted like static. Wren coughed, pushing a strand of faded-blue hair from her face as she surveyed the abandoned diner. Chrome gleamed dully beneath a thick layer of grime, vinyl booths cracked like ancient…
## The Cartographer’s Shadow The dust tasted of old parchment and regret. Elara spat, wiping a smear across the worn leather of her glove. The shard pulsed beneath her fingertips—a frantic heartbeat in the cavernous Archive. It depicted a harvest…
## Glitchpoint The desert shimmered, heat rising from cracked earth like a phantom city. Rain hadn’t kissed this stretch of Arizona in six months. Jax wiped sweat from his brow, the gritty film clinging to his skin. He squinted at…
## The Scent Collector The chipped Formica countertop smelled of disinfectant and regret. Dr. Aris Thorne traced the rim of a lukewarm coffee cup, eyes fixed on the data scrolling across three monitors. Numbers bled into waveforms, chaotic yet meticulously…
## The Violet Hour The chipped ceramic mug warmed Leo Maxwell’s palms. Rain lashed against the skylight of his workshop, a relentless drumming that mirrored the static in his head. He didn’t bother looking at the coffee; it tasted like…
## The Chroma Archive Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight slicing through the arched window. Elias Thorne, a man built like weathered oak and smelling faintly of old paper, ran a calloused thumb across the spine of…
The air tasted like rain and cinnamon. It clung to my skin, a thick, viscous sweetness that made it hard to breathe, yet I didn’t want to. Not really. Because breathing was difficult anyway. Mostly, I just drifted. Drifted through…
The rain in Dustbowl wasn’t normal rain. It was thick, almost viscous, smelling of iron and something else… decayed roses. Not a pleasant scent, not at all. It clung to everything – the corrugated iron of Sal’s diner, the weathered…
The rain hammered against the corrugated iron roof of the Helix, a sound like a thousand frantic fingers drumming. Below, the city – or what was left of it – bled into an oppressive grey. Layers upon layers of concrete…
The rain hammered against the corrugated iron roof of Harpswell Rock Shop, a rhythm mimicking the throb in Elias Finch’s temples. Salt spray clung to his skin despite being miles inland, a ghost of the coast he rarely thought about…
The rain smelled of salt and something else—rotting kelp, maybe, clinging to the stone walls. Twilight bled across Haven’s harbor, a bruised purple and grey where the jagged cliffs met the restless sea. It wasn’t a pretty harbor, not anymore.…