The Wistful Voyage

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2026-08-20 13:47:11 -

The air in the sterilization chamber smelled of ozone and old rust, a metallic tang that clung to the back of Elias Thorne’s throat like a forgotten coin. He sat on the cold steel bench, his hands resting on his knees, fingers interlaced so tightly the knuckles turned the color of parchment. The room was small, a box of brushed aluminum and humming ventilation fans that provided no warmth, only...

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