The Distant Clue
You lie in the grey, humming dark of the dormitory, the sheets damp with a sweat that feels less like bodily heat and more like the condensation of a machine failing to maintain its internal pressure, your body a vessel of fractured glass waiting for the final drop of water to shatter the illusion of integrity. The air is thick with the scent of ozone and old paper, a chemical tang that coats...
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