The Pale Circus
The key turns in the lock with a resistance that feels less like metal and more like wet clay, and Elias Thorne pushes his shoulder against the door of the Meridian Tower, letting the heavy steel slam shut behind him with a thud that vibrates up through his soles and into the hollow of his chest. He is forty-two years old, and his hands are mapped with the white scars of a structural engineer...
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