The Pale Fracture
The crack ran deep, a pale fracture in the white stone that seemed to pulse under the fluorescent hum of the office. Elias Thorne held the chisel steady, his breath suspended, watching the tip bite into the marble model of the Ministry’s central column. He was forty years old, a structural engineer of twenty years, and he was trying to save his marriage with a piece of rock. Clara had been gone...
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