The Pale Altar
The audit was rejected, not because the numbers were wrong, but because the paper had turned to ash in Mr. Vance’s hands, a bureaucratic error that Elias Thorne, a fifty-four-year-old structural engineer with a failing heart and a recurring dream of a white, cracked altar, had to correct to save his livelihood. The smell of the office was sharp, a mixture of stale coffee and the metallic tang...
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