## The Static Bloom The chipped Formica countertop smelled faintly of chlorine. Rain lashed against the corrugated metal roof of the research shack, a frantic drumming that nearly drowned out the hum of the bioreactors. Dr. Aris Thorne traced 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…
The rain tasted like static. Old Man Tiber, they called him, though nobody knew if he *was* an old man anymore, or just a construct wearing the skin of one. His shop, a cubbyhole wedged between a noodle stall and…