The Pale Verdict
The calibration dial sat in Elias Thorne’s palm, a cold, heavy ring of steel that had cost the firm four thousand dollars and his last ounce of patience. He turned it a quarter-inch to the left, feeling the resistance of the mechanism, a friction that seemed to exist only in his bones. Behind him, the Meridian Tower rose like a pale finger pointing at a sky that refused to clear, its foundation...
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