The Wistful Dinner

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2026-08-24 02:53:26 -

The fluorescent lights in the holding cell hummed with a frequency that seemed to vibrate directly against Elias Thorne’s teeth. He sat on the cold steel bench, his hands cuffed behind his back, the metal biting into the skin of his wrists. The air smelled of industrial cleaner and stale sweat, a scent that had become synonymous with his last forty-eight hours. His uniform, once a crisp symbol...

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