The Distant Metropolis
The glass walls of the Meridian Institute atrium reflected the sterile light of the midday sun, a blinding white that seemed to bleach the color from the world. Elias Thorne stood before the central pedestal, his hands trembling as he held the original blueprints for the city’s central spire, the paper cool and brittle against his skin. He was fifty-two years old, an architectural historian...
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