The Wistful Petal
The dream began not with a sound, but with a sensation of pressure against the left temple, a dull, rhythmic throb that felt less like pain and more like the hum of a high-voltage transformer. Elias Vane woke in the sterile white room of the Archive, the air conditioning cycling with a mechanical breath that seemed to vibrate in his teeth. He sat up, his joints stiff with a cold that had...
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