The Wistful Dinner
The rain against the windowpane was not a sound but a presence, a wet, heavy hand pressing against the glass of the office. Elias stood by the radiator, his hands clasped behind his back, feeling the heat radiate through the wool of his trousers. It was a Tuesday in November, the kind of grey, industrial day that felt less like a season and more like a suspension of time. Across the mahogany...
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