The Distant Affair
The brass caliper in your hand is cold, but the stone beneath your thumb is warm. It pulses against your palm, a slow, rhythmic throb that matches the beat of your own failing heart. You are Elias Thorne, fifty-two, and you are holding a piece of St. Jude’s bell tower that should be dead, inert limestone. It is not. It is alive. You have three hours before Mr. Vance comes to inspect the site....
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