The Wistful Ashes
Elias Thorne was peeling the skin off a roasted quail when the first tremor hit, a violent spasm that sent the silver fork clattering against the crystal plate, the sound sharp and ugly in the hushed hum of the Centennial Banquet. He held his hand still, the muscle fibers jumping beneath the skin like trapped insects, while around him the State Bureau of Temporal Integrity celebrated the launch...
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