The Wistful Skyline
Elias. The name was not a call but a summons, sharp and cold, cutting through the damp chill of the counting room where the air smelled of damp wool and old ink. I stood up from my desk, the wood groaning under the weight of my years, and walked toward the heavy oak door at the end of the hall. It was the third time this week Mr. Halloway had summoned me, and each time the low-frequency hum...
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