The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-17 10:56:20 -

The wool coat was gray. Not the soft, dignified gray of old stone or winter sky, but a dull, matted charcoal that had seen too many washes. It hung on the back of a wooden chair in the faculty office, its sleeves fraying at the cuffs. Dr. Elias Thorne did not look at it. He looked at the clock. The hands moved with a mechanical indifference that grated against his nerves. Outside, the city of...

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