The Pale Tower
The crowbar bit into the concrete with a sound like a bone snapping, and Elias Thorne felt the vibration travel up his arm, settling into a dull ache in his shoulder that had been building for three days. He was forty-two, and his hands, which had spent the last decade cataloging the dry, brittle paper of the Municipal Water Authority, were now slick with the gray dust of the sealed...
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