The Faded Quadrant
The light in the Oakhaven laboratory was bad. It came in at a low, slanting angle through the dirty panes, catching the dust motes that hung in the air like suspended breath. Elara counted the hours on the clock face, her finger tracing the numbers with a dry, cracked nail. She needed four more hours of data to secure the sample. The Faded Quadrant, as the station logs called it, was not a...
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