The Pale Door
The building had a reputation for swallowing things whole. It was a place of concrete and glass, a monolith rising from the gray sprawl of the city, where the air always smelled faintly of ozone and stale coffee. I worked in the Department of Structural Integrity, a name that sounded more authoritative than it was. We were the people who checked the math. We looked at the blueprints, the...
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