The Distant Wound
The air in the Sector Four Archive did not smell of dust or decay, which was the first thing that should have told me the system was already broken, but instead it carried the sterile, metallic tang of ozone and the faint, cloying sweetness of synthetic lavender that the ventilation pumps forced into our lungs to keep the morale of the low-level clerks from fraying, a scent so pervasive it had...
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