The Pale Circus
The banquet hall of the Saint Jude’s Correctional Facility was not a place of revelry, but a sterile expanse of polished concrete and humming fluorescent lights where the air hung heavy with the metallic tang of industrial cleaner and the faint, cloying scent of boiled vegetables, and it was here, amidst the clatter of aluminum trays and the low, murmuring tide of institutional silence, that...
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