Chapter 9: Where the Steam Clings
The Collective
The third floor opened around them like a held breath, wide and soft and strange in its gentleness. This wasn’t the rest of the warehouse, no peeling paint, no rusted piping groaning in the walls. It was warmth and filtered light, old wood and quiet corners. A space carved out for retreat, for rest.
Grace blinked at it, standing still in the doorway. “Da…
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