The Pale Tower
The porch railing bit into Elias’s palm, the wood splintering under the pressure of his grip as he held the deed to the Thorne estate in his other hand, the paper yellowed and brittle, smelling of dust and old ink. He was thirty-two, a structural engineer by trade and a debtor by circumstance, standing before the house that had swallowed his father and now threatened to consume him, the...
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