The Wistful Grid
The ink was still wet on the parchment when Elias noticed the line, a thin, rigid thread of pale light that stretched from the corner of his desk to the window frame, vibrating with a low, sub-audible hum that he felt in his teeth rather than heard with his ears. He did not look up; he had learned, over the past three months, that looking directly at the Grid caused a splitting pain behind the...
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