The Wistful Ashes
I The uniform weighed nothing, which was the problem. Solveig Nystrom held the wool against the spectral scanner, her fingers numb from the cold that seeped through the harbor custom house floor. The machine hummed, a low, persistent vibration that defied the standard spectral analysis protocols. It flagged the garment as contaminated, a localized anomaly the system could not purge. This was...
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