The Wistful Silence
The clearance form lay on the mahogany desk, its white surface stark against the dark wood. Elias Thorne stared at the signature line, the ink in the pen dry and stiff. Across the table, Lord Halloway leaned back, the leather of his chair creaking under the weight of his indignation. The air in the office was thin, recycled by a vent that hummed a low, mechanical drone. Elias’s hand hovered...
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