The first time the air tasted like static, Dr. Elara Voss knew something had shifted. The lab’s hum—once a low, familiar drone—now thrummed with a dissonance that made her teeth ache. She pressed a gloved hand to the observation window,…
## The Seam Rain lashed against the corrugated steel roof of the observation post. A relentless drumming that swallowed everything else except the low thrum vibrating through the soles of Elias Thorne’s boots. He tightened his grip on the data…
## The Sunken Chorus Dust motes danced in the amber light filtering through the stained-glass dome of Elias’ workshop. The air smelled of polished wood, brine, and something older—the faint ozone tang of celestial current. He ran a calloused thumb…
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…