The Distant Clue
The morning began with the smell of burnt toast, a scent that had become so familiar to Elias that it no longer registered as a nuisance but as a baseline condition of his existence, a dull hum of domestic failure that underscored the sterile, aggressive silence of the open-plan office. He sat at his desk, a rectangle of polished walnut that felt cold even through the glass partition, staring...
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