The Wistful Dinner
The coal chute in the back of the dining hall groaned, a metallic shriek that tore through the quiet of the university’s winter night, and then it was gone, leaving only the smell of sulfur and damp ash to hang in the air like a ghost that refused to leave. Elias Thorne stood by the window, his breath fogging the glass, watching the steam rise from the gutter where the snow had begun to fall,...
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