The Wistful Atlas
Elias. The name hit the back of your skull before the fist did. You flinched, a reflex older than thought, and the air in the hall cracked with the sound of Kaelen’s knuckles meeting your face. There was no pain, not yet. Only a hot, heavy pressure behind your eyes, like blood trying to find a door that had been bricked up. You looked at the floor, at the dust motes dancing in the shaft of...
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