The Golden Circuit
Mara, you’re late. The voice cut through the sterile air of the breakroom, sharp and unyielding. Mara flinched, her coffee cup rattling against the saucer. It was David. He stood by the vending machine, back to her, watching the red light of the machine pulse. He didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to. The vibration in the walls had started three days ago, a low, persistent hum that only she...
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