The Pale Path
The fluorescent lights of the server room hummed a low, electric hymn, a sound that had become the soundtrack of Elias’s life for the past decade. He sat before the central rack, his fingers hovering over the mechanical keyboard, the plastic keys worn smooth by years of anxious tapping. The air was cold, recycled, and sterile, smelling faintly of ozone and dust. Here, in the belly of the data...
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