The Pale Tower
The room smelled of wet wool and stale coffee, a thick, suffocating scent that clung to the back of Marcus’s throat as he sat in the corner of the open-plan office, watching the rain streak down the floor-to-ceiling windows. It was the annual end-of-year gala, or what passed for one at Sterling & Associates, a sterile function where the partners in their charcoal suits moved through the air...
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