Ava Mind Leakimedia //free\\ Review
The building smelled like old paper and rain. At the center of the ground floor a circle had been painted over and over until the concrete had the texture of a bruise. Someone had left chairs. Someone had left the faint iron tang of coffee. There were signs that someone had been making maps—paper torn into strips with routes and names and a single, repeating emblem stamped in the margin: an eye with a stitch across the iris.
