The Faded Dust
The vial was cold. It sat on the stainless-steel counter, a small glass cylinder holding a single drop of liquid. I stared at it. The drop trembled. Not from the air conditioning. It trembled because it was alive. Or so the report said. I am not a scientist. I am an investigator. I deal in facts. In records. In the cold hard data of who did what and when. But this drop defied the schema. It was...
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