The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-19 06:32:19 -

The Wistful Ashes

The air in the Hall of Correction tasted of ozone and stale coffee. Marcus sat at the obsidian table. His hands trembled. Not from fear. From fatigue. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. The pain was a dull throb, a constant companion. "Your calibration is drifting, Marcus," said Director Vance. Vance stood. He was tall. He wore a suit that cost more than Marcus’s house. The fabric was a deep,...

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