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  • The Reasonable Man's Descent
    Tom Lassiter had always believed he was a good person. This belief was not arrogance — or if it was, it was the quiet, unexamined arrogance of someone who had never been tested. He was thirty-two years old in the spring of 1987, a screenwriter who had moved to Los Angeles six years earlier with a degree in English literature from the University of Chicago and a conviction that stories could...
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  • The Exchange of Souls
    Elias was a man who lived in the margins of New York, a professional observer of the elite. He knew which senators took bribes and which CEOs slept with their secretaries. He had a gift for finding the "crack" in any person's facade—the one secret that could bring them to their knees. He spent his nights in "The Exchange," a windowless club in the Meatpacking District where the city's most...
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  • The Fifteen-Year Clock
    The East Coast was a graveyard of neon and salt. The Genetic Collapse had been a silent thief, stealing the lives of everyone over twelve in a single, shimmering afternoon. For Elias, a fourteen-year-old with a mind that raced faster than the tides, the first two years had been a scientific odyssey. He had built a society of logic, a colony of young thinkers who believed that knowledge was the...
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  • THE NEIGHBOR ON 112TH
    I. Margaret Thompson had lived in apartment 302 of 112th Street for five years, and in all that time she had never learned Edgar Winters's last name. Everyone called him Professor Winters, but no one knew what he had been a professor of until someone found his old Columbia University ID card in a drawer and discovered he had been a theoretical physicist. He was a tall man with stooped shoulders...
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  • The Last Bastion
    The sky over the Last Bastion was the color of a bruised plum, thick with the iridescent spores of the Void-Eaters. We were the final three thousand souls of the human race, huddled behind a wall of singing quartz that kept the madness of the outer dimensions at bay. I was Captain Elias, a man who had spent his life fighting a war that had already been lost. I was the only "Resonator"...
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  • The Last Dance at Dunmore
    The Last Dance at Dunmore The trumpet blared like a wounded animal and the crowd in the Dunmore Club went wild. Dixie Calloway moved across the stage in a flash of silver sequins, her hips rolling with a rhythm that had nothing to do with music and everything to do with survival. She had been dancing for three hours and her feet were bleeding inside her shoes, but the crowd wanted more and...
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  • The Cage of Ashes
    The storm came without warning. It struck the Yorkshire moors like a wrathful god, tearing at the thatched roofs and driving rain through every crack in the stone walls. Dr. Arthur Pemberton rode his horse as fast as he could through the deluge, his lantern swinging wildly in the gale. The village elder had sent for him—his wife was dying, and there was nothing else for it but a doctor, however...
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  • The Unwritten Ledger of Grace
    The Mississippi is not merely a river; it is a living, breathing entity that swallows secrets and exhales history. The Mississippi is not merely a river; it is a living, breathing entity that swallows secrets and exhales history. The Mississippi is not merely a river; it is a living, breathing entity that swallows secrets and exhales history. The Mississippi is not merely a river; it is a...
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  • Title: The Glass Empire
    Marcus Thorne lived in a penthouse that felt like a cloud of chrome and glass, overlooking the shimmering grid of Singapore. He was the architect of "Omni-Trade," a financial algorithm that had effectively replaced the volatility of the market with a predictable, sterile growth. He was the most powerful man in the room, and the room was the world. His empire was built on a single, elegant lie....
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  • The Fitzgerald Signal
    They told me the raid was a victory before the smoke had cleared from the opium den's back room. By dawn, I was the face of federal authority on every newspaper in Manhattan. The National Miscellany ran a full-page photograph of me standing over the body of a dead woman, my face set in that expression people mistake for coldness when it is actually just the particular shade of exhaustion you...
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  • The Blood of Thornwood
    The coffin smelled of earth and old wood and something else—something sweet and coppery that Elias couldn't name. He'd been sent to open it because he was the youngest and the lightest and the only one who wouldn't cry. His grandmother had said this with such certainty that Elias hadn't argued. He'd just picked up the crowbar and gone down into the family plot behind the Thornwood house, where...
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  • THE PARANOIA ENGINE
    Dr. Henry Webb was giving a lecture on cognitive asymmetry at the University of Chicago when a woman in a dark suit handed him an envelope during the question-and-answer period. The lecture hall was mostly empty — it was a Thursday afternoon in April, and most of his students had better things to do. The envelope was plain white, unsealed, and contained a single sheet of paper. The paper held a...
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