The Wistful Petal
The hydraulic jack hisses, a sound like a dying rat, and you watch the black fluid rise. It does not fall. It climbs the rebar of the load-bearing pillar, thick and viscous, defying the pull of the earth with a slow, deliberate malice. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a structural engineer with a pension that depends on the stability of this sub-basement by dawn. The demolition crew...
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