The Faded Bouquet
The chandelier in the dining hall of Blackwood Manor did not sway, yet the light it cast trembled like a held breath, illuminating a table set for two with a severity that bordered on ritual. Elias Thorne, forty-two and wearing the stiff collar of a man who had not slept in three days, smoothed the linen tablecloth with a hand that felt strangely foreign to him, a tool for a job he no longer...
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