The Wistful Ashes
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended grey curtain that smelled of wet ash and ozone, wrapping the interior of the detention block in a suffocating embrace that pressed against the skin like a damp cloth. Inside the concrete walls of Sector Four, the silence was not empty but heavy, a physical weight that settled into the marrow of those who walked the corridors with...
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