The Wistful Dinner
The fluorescent lights in the federal processing center hummed with a frequency that Elias Thorne felt in his teeth, a low, grinding vibration that seemed to vibrate the marrow of his bones. He sat in the cramped, windowless office, the air stale and recycled, smelling of toner and old coffee, and stared at the transfer papers for his wife, Clara, who had been missing for three days. The...
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