The Faded Quadrant
The drill bit screamed against the concrete, throwing a spray of gray dust that coated the back of Elias Thorne’s shirt. He pulled the tool from the pylon, his hands steady despite the vibration that traveled up his forearms and settled in his teeth. It was a Tuesday, and the air in the Kestrel District tasted of wet rust and diesel. Elias wiped his eyes with a rag that had long since lost its...
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