The Golden Downtown
The glass tower did not fall; it simply ceased to be opaque, turning into a shimmering, translucent membrane that revealed the architecture of its own death. Elias Vane stood on the forty-second floor, his hands pressed against the cold, vibrating pane, watching the city below dissolve into a wash of indistinguishable gray and white. It was not a natural disaster, nor was it a bomb. It was a...
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