The Wistful Silence
The pen is slipping again, Elias, isn't it? Sarah’s voice was quiet, barely rising above the hum of the ventilation system in the breakroom, but it landed with the weight of a dropped steel beam. Elias did not look up from the X-ray he had pinned to the corkboard behind the coffee machine. The film was backlit by the fluorescent tube, turning his own knuckles into ghostly, translucent islands...
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