The Faded Portrait
The copper tubing on the north wall of the observatory had turned the color of old blood by the time Dr. Aris walked in, a dull, rusted brown that seeped onto the linoleum floor in a slow, viscous drip. Elias Vane, twelve years old and already a master of spectral harmonics, did not look up from the console where his fingers danced across the keys, bypassing the safety protocols with the casual...
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