The Pale Meridian
The chandelier above you sways in a rhythm that has nothing to do with the air conditioning, a slow, sickening pendulum that matches the erratic thumping of your own heart as you raise a glass of Pinot Noir to the room of forty-two colleagues who have gathered to celebrate your retirement after twenty years of service at the Municipal Infrastructure Bureau. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, and...
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