The Faded Apartment
The dream always began with the smell of ozone and wet slate, a sharp, metallic tang that coated the back of your throat before you could even open your eyes. You were standing in the corridor of the Greyfriars Building, a structure of soot-stained brick and iron girders that seemed to breathe with the heavy, rhythmic exhalations of the city’s industrial heart. The floor was slick with...
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