The Pale Circus
The kettle screamed, a high, thin sound that cut through the heavy, tobacco-stained air of the break room, and Elias looked at the water as it boiled, watching the bubbles rise and pop, rise and pop, a rhythmic, mindless churning that mirrored the panic rising in his own chest, a panic so sharp it felt like a physical blow to the sternum, a blow that left no mark but left a bruise the color of...
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