The Distant Summer
In the dream, the office was not made of drywall and fluorescent hums, but of a single, infinite pane of glass, curved like the interior of a bell jar, enclosing the entire workforce in a silence so profound it had weight. Elias Vane stood at the center of this crystalline amphitheater, holding a porcelain teacup that was perfectly white, perfectly unmarked, and perfectly empty. He knew, with...
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