The Distant Nightmare
The truck idled in the gravel lot, its engine a low, grinding rumble that matched the frequency in Elias Thorne’s left ear. He checked his watch. 06:00. The demolition crew was due in forty minutes to set the final charges on the Meridian Watchtower. Elias adjusted his belt, the leather stiff from the cold morning air, and stepped out of the cab. The tower stood three hundred yards away, a slab...
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