The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-18 08:20:51 -

The Wistful Ashes

The air in the Central Processing Hall of the Department of Behavioral Correction did not smell of rot, as the old prisons had, but of ozone and warm plastic. It was a sterile scent, the smell of a machine that had been running too long without being cleaned. Elias Thorne stood at the center of the circular floor, his hands bound behind his back with mag-locks that hummed against his wrists. He...

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