The Pale Garden
The glass tower stood in the center of the park like a frozen scream. It was not a building, not really. It was a column of light trapped in silica, humming with a low, electric frequency that Marcus felt in his teeth. He was twelve years old. He wore a gray hoodie that was too big. The fabric swallowed his hands. He stood at the base of the structure, alone. The park was empty. The city behind...
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