The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-20 05:29:55 -

The Wistful Ashes

The air in the containment unit was sterile, smelling of ozone and old paper. Silas sat on the edge of the cot. His hands were folded in his lap. They were steady. They had always been steady. Outside the glass, the corridor hummed. It was the sound of the city beyond, a low thrum of machinery and movement. But here, time did not move. It pooled. It stagnated. "Your vitals are optimal," a voice...

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