The box arrived on a Tuesday, discreet and matte black, the kind of packaging that whispered rather than shouted. Becky left it on the kitchen island like a sleeping bomb, its very presence altering the atmosphere of their shared loft. Jessica knew what it was, of course. They had chosen its cont...
Read MoreFor seventeen years, Jon had been a continent unto himself, but one governed by distant, mysterious weather systems. His body was a landscape of sudden, inconvenient changes—the cracking of his voice into gullies and ridges, the shadow of stubble appearing like strange new foliage on his ja...
Read MoreElara Vance lived in a world of silent, beautiful things. As the senior conservator at the Atherton Museum of Decorative Arts, her days were a meditation on texture, composition, and the slow, respectful repair of time’s damage. Her hands, always cool and dry, were trained to handle the fra...
Read MoreThe chrome and neon of the lower sectors of Aethelstadt blurred into a throbbing, synaptic pulse. Kaelen moved through the crowds not as a man, but as a vessel of want. His skin, threaded with sub-dermal circuitry, hummed in dissonant sympathy with the city’s core. He was a Conduit, o...
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