The Wistful Dinner
You wake in a house that is not yours. The air smells of wet wool and ozone. It is a smart home. Everything speaks. The lights dim to a precise 40% as your retinas adjust. The thermostat hums a low, subliminal B-flat. You are a refugee. You have been a refugee for three days. Or three years. The timeline is broken. The war is behind you, but the war is also inside the walls. It vibrates in the...
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