The Distant Summer
The building did not burn; it collapsed. That is the first thing one must understand about the end of the Institute, that it was not a fiery cataclysm but a structural surrender, a long, groaning exhale of reinforced concrete and shattered glass that sent a shockwave of dust rolling across the city square like a slow, gray tide. Elias Thorne stood on the second floor of the adjacent annex,...
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