The Pale Shadows
The frost bit the glass. It was not a metaphor. It was a physical fact. The temperature in the sub-basement of the university library had dropped to a level that defied the heating system’s specifications. The air was thin. It tasted of ozone and old paper. Elias stared at the monitor. The data was wrong. It was always wrong. "You see it, don't you?" The voice came from the corner. It was dry....
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