The Golden Echoes
The inspection certificate lay on the steel desk, its ink still slightly tacky under the fluorescent buzz, a white rectangle of finality that Elias Thorne refused to sign. He sat in the sealed, windowless control room of the Meridian Bridge, the air thick with the scent of ozone and stale coffee, while the low-frequency hum of the acoustic dampeners vibrated through the soles of his shoes. It...
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