The Pale Tower
The chandelier in the hall of the County Administrative Building did not hang; it hovered, suspended by an invisible tension that seemed to pull the very air of the room into a taut, suffocating web of gold and crystal. Elias Thorne stood at the periphery of the banquet, his hand resting on the cold iron of his service revolver, which he had removed from its holster and tucked into the small of...
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