The Faded Shield
The air in the atmospheric processing chamber did not smell of rain or earth, as the old stories promised, but of ozone, hot copper, and the sterile, aggressive scent of formaldehyde that clung to the lining of Margot’s throat like a physical weight. She stood before the great glass partition, her breath fogging the pane in a thin, trembling line, watching the other side where the light was not...
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