The Wistful Ashes
The chandeliers in the Oakhaven Hall swung gently, casting long, wavering shadows across the polished floor where three hundred townsfolk waltzed in a blur of silk and suspicion. Elias Thorne stood by the edge of the dance floor, his tuxedo jacket feeling too tight around the chest, his eyes fixed on the Municipal Archive Director, a man whose smile never reached his cold, calculating eyes....
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