The Pale Garden
The chandelier in the Ministry’s grand ballroom did not sway, yet the light it cast seemed to breathe, a pale, rhythmic pulse that matched the thumping of your own heart. You stood by the marble column, holding a flute of champagne that had gone warm in your hand, watching Director Halloway move through the crowd like a shark in a tank of goldfish, his smile sharp and unyielding. You were Elias...
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