The Faded Road
The cough started in the bone before it reached the throat. It was a dry, tearing sound, like silk ripping in a silent room. I sat in my office, the glass walls humming with the low-frequency thrum of the server farm beyond. The air was cold. It was always cold. We ran the servers hot, but the office stayed chilled, a sterile frost meant to preserve the data, to keep the logic clean. I was the...
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