The party lasted three days and ended with a single phone call.
Edward Ashworth stood in the center of his apartment on Fifth Avenue and listened to the phone ring while the sound of jazz drifted up from the street below—brass instruments playing something fast and bright and desperately alive, the kind of music that tried to outrun the silence that was coming. He picked up the receiver on the fourth ring. "Hello?" "Edward." The voice on the other end was...
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