The Golden Circuit
The signature is late, Elias. Halloway’s voice did not rise, but it carried the flat, hard weight of a closed door. We need the foundation sign-off by Friday, or the contract is void. The office was quiet, save for the hum of the ventilation system and the faint, rhythmic tapping of Elias’s own fingers against the desk. He looked at his left hand, resting on the polished mahogany. The tremor...
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