The Pale Dance
Act I The Tōhoku farm belt hummed with the low, industrial thrum of the Great Migration north, where permafrost slumped into the lakes and the air tasted of iron and diesel. Every leased life in the tech corridor moved with the precision of a clockwork mechanism, bound by the rent-to-own traps that held the region in a state of perpetual, expensive suspension. I was Akari Yamada, a senior...
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