The Faded Attic
The warehouse smelled of wet cardboard and old dust, a scent that had seeped into the porous skin of Elias Thorne over the last decade. He stood in the center of the main floor, surrounded by the skeletal remains of his career. The overhead fluorescent lights buzzed with a low, electric hum that vibrated in his teeth, casting a harsh, sterile glow over the rows of inventory that he had once...
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