The Distant Wound

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2026-08-19 19:28:17 -

The Distant Wound

The air in Sector 4 always tasted of copper and stale rain. It was a metallic tang that coated the back of the tongue, a constant reminder that the sky above the city was not the sky, but a membrane. We called it the Veil. I sat on the edge of my cot, the mattress thin and unyielding beneath my hips, and watched the light flicker. It was not a malfunction. It was a pulse. Every hour, the Veil...

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