The Wistful Skyline
The snow had not yet fallen on the cobblestones of the High Street, but the air in the tribunal hall was already thick with a pressure that sat heavily against my temples, a low-frequency hum that had been building in the city’s ancient bronze bells for three weeks, a sound I had spent twenty years learning to ignore but could no longer dismiss. I am Elias, forty-two years old, a senior...
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