The Distant Joke
The cough started not with a rattle, but with a sharp, metallic tear that split the silence of your office. You clutched your chest, the pain a hot wire drawn from your lungs to your teeth, while Mr. Vance sat behind his mahogany desk, watching you with the detached curiosity of a man observing a mouse struggle against a trap. You were Elias Thorne, thirty-two, a clerk in the mill town of...
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