
The Clockwork Heart
Lila’s fingers brushed the rusted hinge of the hidden door, and a whisper of oil and aged paper curled into the air. She’d found it—the workshop her father had vanished into three years ago. The lock snapped open with a…
Lila’s fingers brushed the rusted hinge of the hidden door, and a whisper of oil and aged paper curled into the air. She’d found it—the workshop her father had vanished into three years ago. The lock snapped open with a…
The air smelled of antiseptic and metal. Her fingers brushed against the cold steel of the examination table. A flickering fluorescent light hummed above her, casting jagged shadows across the white walls. She had no name, no memory of how…
Dr. Lila Voss adjusted the sterile gloves on her hands, the latex creaking as she leaned over the observation table. The man lying beneath the thin sheet—Elias Mercer—had no idea how close he was to unraveling everything she believed about…
Dr. Elara Voss had always preferred the hum of her lab’s oscillators to the chatter of people. The air smelled of ozone and old coffee, a scent she’d grown so accustomed to that it no longer registered. Her fingers trembled…
Dr. Lila Voss awoke to the scent of antiseptic and the hum of machinery, her fingers curling into the sterile sheet beneath her. The ceiling above was a featureless expanse of white, reflecting the cold glow of overhead lights. Her…
Dr. Elara Voss adjusted the goggles over her eyes, the sterile hum of the lab filling her ears. The subject, a man named Kael, sat across from her, his fingers twitching against the steel table. His pupils dilated as she…
## The Echo Garden The salt spray tasted like grief on Dr. Aris Thorne’s tongue. She traced the pitted bone of a clavicle, cool beneath her latex glove. Not just any clavicle. This one pulsed with a faint, internal emerald…
The rain hammered against the corrugated iron roof of Silas’s shack, a relentless rhythm mirroring the frantic drumming in his chest. He hadn’t slept properly in days, not since the anomaly hit Sector 7. The air, usually a thick soup…