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... p>
Whoooosh.
Wind howled through the corridor connecting Level Three to Level Four—not natural wind, but conceptual wind. The movement of ideas through space, carrying whispers that weren’t quite sound.
Yoo’s boots clicked against crystalline floor—click-click-click—each step creating micro-fractures that healed instantly with a sound like ice cracking in reverse. Crick-crack-snap. The air tasted metallic and sweet simultaneously, coating his tongue with flavors that suggested ...
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