The Thorne Bloom
## The Algorithmic Bloom The rain tasted like iron. Not a metallic tang, exactly, but a memory of it – the damp chill clinging to unearthed shovels in my grandfather’s garden. I licked my lips, ignoring the grimace that tightened…
self-improvement
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The Static Between Lines
## The Static Between Lines The chipped Formica of the diner booth felt cold under Ivo’s elbows. Nineteen levels deep at Alpha Tech, and all he had to show for it was a growing anxiety about the emptiness of his…