The Faded Quadrant
The dream was always the same: the quadrant tower, its northern face peeling away in sheets of grey mortar, the wind howling through the hollowed-out center where the heart of the structure should have been. Elias Thorne woke with a cough that tasted of iron and wet plaster, his lungs burning as if he had inhaled the dust of the city itself. He lay in his narrow cot in the garret above the...
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