The Wistful Voyage
The porcelain cup sat on the steel table. It was white, unadorned, save for a thin blue rim. It was whole. "Put it down, Elias," the man in the corner said. He did not look up from his file. His voice was dry, like sandpaper on wood. "I didn’t call you here to drink. I called you here to listen." Elias did not put the cup down. His hand was a claw around the handle. His knuckles were white. The...
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