The Faded Ruin
The sonic probe bit into the limestone with a sound like a cracked knuckle, and I watched the readout spike red on my tablet. I was forty-two, and my hands were steady, but the air in the Old Hall tasted of wet chalk and old copper. My promotion depended on this certification, a simple stamp of approval that would clear the site for the Ministry’s new residential block. The building groaned, a...
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