The Wistful Dinner
The subsonic hum had been vibrating in my molars for three weeks, a frequency so low it registered less as sound and more as a persistent, grinding pressure behind my eyes, a structural anomaly I had cataloged in my field notes as minor foundation settling, a negligible variable in the complex calculus of the new solitary confinement wing’s stability. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two, a senior...
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