WHEN THE LIGHTS FLICKER The coffee shop smells like burnt caramel and something else. Something sharp. Antiseptic. You blink. No. Coffee. Only coffee. The woman
THE RECORDER Day 2,847. Eli woke to the hum of solar panels charging. Bright morning light filtered through gaps in his shelter. He sat up
The Vanishing Song Marcus pressed record for the hundredth time. His fingers found the familiar pattern on the guitar strings. The melody flowed like water,
Green Code: The Last Botanists The last real plant died thirty years ago. Dr. Eliza Chen remembered the day clearly—she’d been just a child when