The Wistful Crossroads
The rain hammered the slate roof of the Ministry of Infrastructure, a relentless, heavy drumming that made Elias Thorne’s teeth ache. He stood in the courtyard, his boots squelching in the mud, holding a rolled-up blueprint that had gone soft and gray in the downpour. The stone walls of the Ministry bled. It was a slow, viscous oozing, black sap that seeped from the mortar joints and hardened...
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