Chapter 4: Memory in the Walls
The Collective
The kitchen smelled wrong. Not rot, not yet. But something sharper. Disinfectant, maybe. Citrus and bleach layered over something coppery and faintly sweet. Like the air had been scrubbed too hard to hide what wouldn't wash away.
Nicola stepped inside, bootprints joining the muddy constellation already tracked across the tile. She noted the evidence mark…
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