The Faded Quadrant
The concrete hammer hung heavy in Elias Thorne’s grip, its rubberized handle slick with the condensation of the November air. He raised it, the head catching the dim, yellow light from the emergency fixtures that still hummed in the walls of the decommissioned St. Jude’s Hospital. The central atrium was a cathedral of decay, the glass dome above a fractured eye staring down at him, its panes...
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