The Wistful Ashes
The ventilation system in Sector 4 had a hum that Elias could feel in his teeth, a low, persistent thrum that sounded less like machinery and more like a held breath. He adjusted his glasses, the lenses fogging slightly in the damp air, and turned the page of the ledger with a gloved hand. The paper was brittle, yellowed at the edges, smelling of mildew and old ink. "You’re doing it again," a...
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