The Wistful Silence
The air in the hearing room was conditioned to a sterile, aggressive chill, the kind that dried the eyes and sharpened the edges of every object, and Elena stood with her hands pressed flat against the mahogany table, her knuckles white, watching Director Halloway adjust his tie with the slow, deliberate precision of a man arranging a scene for a photograph. He did not look at her, not really;...
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