The Wistful Dinner
The building did not burn. It dissolved. One moment, the Grand Hall of the Sterling Foundation stood in all its sterile, marble-clad glory. The next, the air turned to ash. The chandeliers fell upward, drifting into a ceiling that was no longer there. The guests screamed, but the sound arrived late, muffled, as if the air itself had become thick with dust. Elias Vane stood by the long table. He...
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