The Wistful Saga
The draft in the hallway of St. Jude’s has no source. You feel it on your neck before you see the men. They stand by the nurses' station, two figures in charcoal coats, their faces obscured by the low light of the fluorescent tubes. They do not speak. They do not need to. The temperature drops, a sharp, physical bite that makes the condensation on the water cooler freeze into a thin crust. You...
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