The Distant Machine
The hall was too warm. The air hung heavy, thick with the scent of roasted meat and stale beer. It pressed against the skin like a wet wool blanket. Elias stood near the wall. He held his glass. He did not drink. The glass trembled in his hand. A thin line of sweat traced his temple. He watched the room. Men in dark suits. Women in silk. They laughed. The sound was sharp. It cut the air. They...
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