The singularity, they say, is just the point where mysteries grow heavier.
"What did the numbers say about time?" said the engineer, eyes half-closed under the dim bulb.
"In the end, it folds upon itself," she murmured, as the rain drummed its own rhythm.
The papers rustled like whispers around the abandoned station. Different paths, names, and connecting lines, all echoing a singular narrative.
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