The Golden Farce
The tower stood in the gray heart of the city, a monolith of glass and steel that pierced the low, bruised clouds. Inside, on the forty-second floor, Elias Thorne sat at his desk. He did not look up. He did not breathe. He only waited. The air conditioning hummed a low, mechanical note. It was the only sound in the room. The silence was heavy. It pressed against his eardrums. It tasted of dust...
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