The Wistful Mirror
The warehouse had been breathing for three days. It was a subtle thing, a rhythmic expansion and contraction of the corrugated iron walls that hummed at a frequency just below the threshold of hearing, vibrating in the teeth, in the marrow. We ignored it at first. We were too busy. The facility, a sprawling logistics hub on the outskirts of Leeds, was supposed to be dead, shuttered by the...
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