The Pale Dance
The Grand Atrium of the Meridian Institute was not a building so much as a suspended organ, a vast, breathing lung of white marble and reinforced glass that floated above the fog-choked valley. It was a place of perfect, sterile symmetry, where the air was scrubbed clean of scent and the light was calibrated to the exact Kelvin required for maximum cognitive retention. Eleanor Whitmore stood at...
0 Reacties 0 aandelen 1 Views 0 voorbeeld