The Distant Metropolis
The shelling did not stop so much as it changed its texture, shifting from the percussive thud of distant artillery to a high, thin shriek that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of Dr. Elias Thorne’s teeth. He stood in the center of the library, a room that had once smelled of vanilla and decaying paper but now reeked of ozone and wet plaster, and he watched the dust fall in slow, deliberate...
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