The Pale Exile
The orchid was lighter than it had been that morning, a fact Elias noticed because his thumb was sinking into the stem where the petal should have held its weight. He sat in the breakroom of Sector Four, the fluorescent lights humming a low, sick note against the silence of the station. Outside, the fog pressed against the glass, a thick, pale smear that defied the clear skies reported by the...
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