The Wistful Skyline
The air in the sub-basement of the Meridian Data Recovery Center was not merely cold; it was a physical weight, a dense, sterile fog that pressed against the skin of the lungs and settled into the marrow, stripping away the last shreds of warmth that memory might have offered. Elias Thorne sat hunched over a console that hummed with a low, arrhythmic thrum, a sound like the heartbeat of a dying...
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