The Faded Attic
The morning air in the atrium of the Meridian Correctional Institute for Juvenile Reformation tasted of damp concrete and ozone, a sterile chill that crept up through the floorboards and settled in the marrow of Elara Vance’s bones, a physical weight that pressed against her ribs with the persistence of a tide that would not recede. She stood at the edge of the observation gallery, her fingers...
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