The Wistful Saga
October 14. The hum started at 3:15 AM. It wasn’t a sound, exactly, but a pressure in the molars, a low-frequency vibration that seemed to emanate from the walls of my office. I checked the heating vents. Nothing. I checked the pipes. Nothing. By the time I sat back at my desk, the *Journal of Modern Studies* submission portal was open, and the cursor blinked with a rhythm that matched the...
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