## 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…
## The Static Bloom The air tasted like burnt sugar and static. Not the crackle from a faulty receiver, but something deeper, coating the tongue like ash. Wren coughed, pulling the salvaged respirator tighter across her face. The filter did…
Dust motes danced in the beam of Leo’s headlamp, a miniature galaxy swirling within the dome of the abandoned Lowell Observatory. The air tasted of rust and regret. He traced a finger across the chipped enamel of the telescope’s base,…