The Pale Tower
The rain in Seattle did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended gray curtain that blurred the edges of the world and softened the sharp, brutalist geometry of the Kessler Monolith, which Elias Thorne had spent the last six months analyzing with the obsessive, feverish precision of a man trying to solve a equation that refused to balance. He stood on the wet asphalt of the service alley, his...
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