The Wistful Silence
The air inside the nave of St. Jude’s Cathedral did not smell of dust or decay, as one might expect of a structure condemned for demolition, but of ozone and wet iron, a metallic tang that coated Elias Thorne’s tongue and vibrated against the roots of his teeth. He stood on the cracked flagstones, the final set of blueprints for the structural implosion clutched in his hands, the paper...
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