The Wistful Ashes
The coffee in the cup was cold, a dark, viscous sludge that smelled faintly of burnt copper and regret. Elias sat in the corner of the break room, his back against the cool tile, watching the steam that had long since vanished leave only a ghost of warmth in the air. He was a man who investigated things, a specialist in the Department of Anomalous Consumption, a title that sounded bureaucratic...
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