The Faded Attic
The cracked glass of the compass lay open on the drafting table, its needle trembling with a violent, arrhythmic spin. Elias Thorne adjusted his cufflinks, the metal cold against his wrist, and watched the instrument’s erratic dance with the detached precision of a man observing a structural failure. He was forty-two, a structural engineer whose firm was bleeding capital, and the only thing...
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