The Pale Fracture
The air in the sub-basement tasted of rust and ozone. It was a metallic tang that coated the back of the tongue, persistent and cold. Elias Thorne adjusted his hard hat. The brim dug into his forehead. He stood in the center of the corridor. The lights were low. They hummed with a frequency that seemed to vibrate in his teeth. He was a maintenance engineer. His job was to keep the pipes...
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