The Wistful Silence
The great hall of the Oakhaven Town Hall smelled of roasted pheasant, stale beer, and the sharp, metallic tang of impending change. Elias Thorne stood at the center of the long oak table, his hand resting on the rim of his wine glass, waiting for the silence to break so he could speak. For forty years, Elias had been the town’s quiet conscience, a man who believed that duty was a stone wall...
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