The Pale Tower
1912. October 14th. The steam in the sub-basement pipes does not hiss; it breathes. I have worked at the Pale Tower for twenty-two years, long enough to know the rhythm of the machinery, the precise cadence of the turbines that keep the city’s lights burning while the rest of the world sleeps. I am a senior engineer, a man of calculations and concrete, yet today the air in the ventilation...
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