The Pale Exile
The file on my desk was marked VOID in red ink. The stamp was fresh, the ink still wet, a violent scar on the white paper of the Meridian Bridge safety report. I stared at it, my fingers trembling slightly as I adjusted my glasses. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two, a senior structural engineer with twenty years of service to the Department of Public Works. My only desire, my singular, grinding...
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