The Faded Apartment
The check was unsigned. Julian Vane sat across the desk, his suit a shade of charcoal so deep it seemed to absorb the fluorescent light of the office, and he tapped a manicured fingernail against the leather surface. Elias Thorne watched the tap. It was a rhythmic, impatient sound, like a metronome set to a tempo that made the air feel thinner. "Is this a joke, Mr. Vane?" Elias asked. His voice...
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