The Pale Tower
The pen felt heavy in Elara Vance’s hand, a slab of black plastic that smelled faintly of the industrial solvent used to clean the municipal office floors. She held it over the demolition permit for St. Jude’s Clinic, her signature line staring up at her like a wound, while the fluorescent lights buzzed with a low, electric hum that seemed to vibrate in her teeth. Outside the window, the...
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