The Faded Apartment
In the dream, the coat was not a garment but a second skin, woven from the grey, static-charged air of a corridor that stretched infinitely into the dark. Elias Thorne stood before a mirror that reflected not his face, but the back of his own neck, the nape exposed, vulnerable to a wind that did not exist in the physical world but howled with the frequency of a failing server. He reached for...
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