The Pale Tower
The rain was not falling; it was being pressed into the earth by the weight of the sky, a thick, oily grey sheet that turned the gravel of the Institute’s forecourt into a slurry of mud and broken glass. You stood at the threshold of the east wing, your hand resting on the cold iron of the door handle, the metal biting into your palm with a familiarity that felt less like ownership and more...
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