The Faded Root
The solvent smell hit me before I even opened the door, a sharp, chemical bite that coated the back of my throat. I was already inside, the heavy steel vault humming with the low, constant thrum of the climate control, when I realized I had left my gloves on the desk outside. I stood there, bare hands pressed against the cold glass of the display case, watching the Faded Root. It was a scrap of...
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