The Golden Master
Ragna Ryberg pressed her palm against the vibrating glass of the atrium, feeling the subsonic hum travel up her wrist and into the marrow of her forearm. It was three minutes past midnight, the deadline for the final safety certification of the Helix Tower, and the building was breathing. The air tasted of ozone and old paper, a dry, metallic tang that coated the back of her throat. She counted...
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