The Distant Garden
The name Elias Thorne was not spoken so much as it was stamped, a bureaucratic weight that landed on the desk in front of me with the finality of a gavel strike. I was thirty-four years old, a structural engineer with twelve years of service at Harrow & Vane, and I was sitting in a windowless conference room that smelled of ozone and stale coffee, waiting for the final certification exam that...
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