The Golden Myth
The concrete of the Meridian Exchange did not merely stand; it endured, a brutalist monolith that Elias Thorne had spent two decades shaping into a testament of permanence. He stood in the rotunda, the air thick with the scent of wet dust and ozone, listening to the low, subsonic groan of the structure as the storm outside battered the glass skin of the city. His want was singular and...
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