The Wistful Letter
The sky above the Appalachian foothills did not turn black; it turned the color of a bruise, a deep, swollen violet that pulsed with a rhythm not quite human. It happened at dawn, a sudden hemorrhage of light that swallowed the sun and left the world in a twilight that smelled of ozone and crushed iron. Silas Vane, a corporal in the newly formed Bureau of Anomalous Containment, stood on the...
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