The Pale Tower
The lease on the Kellerman Tower expired in six days, a deadline that hung over Elias Thorne like a noose made of damp wool. He sat at his desk, a scarred slab of oak that had once belonged to Julian, and stared at the cataloging notes he had spent the last three weeks transcribing by hand, a ritual of preservation he had convinced himself was an act of love. The tower, a brutalist concrete...
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