The Wistful Ashes
The cursor blinks, a rhythmic, accusatory pulse in the center of the sterile monitor, and your finger hovers over the enter key, trembling not with cold but with the sudden, visceral weight of a task that was supposed to take an hour and now feels like a burial. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, a senior structural engineer in the administrative spire of New Aethelgard, and your concrete want is...
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