The sky over Yorkshire was the color of a bruise.
Eleanor Ashworth sat in her cottage on the moors, her telescope pointed at a sun that was already dying, though no one else knew it yet. She had calculated the helium flash timeline three months ago, in the small hours of a November morning, when the ink on her calculations was still wet and her hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold her pen. The numbers did not lie. The sun would...
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