The Wistful Atlas
The glass shattered. It did not shatter loudly. It shattered with the quiet, finality of a bone breaking under a heavy load. A thousand facets of the city skyline exploded outward from the center of the atrium, catching the afternoon light and scattering it into a blinding, chaotic starburst. I stood on the precipice of the forty-second floor, my hands still trembling from the grip of the glass...
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