The Distant Joke
The rain slicked the pavement outside the hotel, turning the streetlights into smeared yellow bruises on the wet asphalt. Elias stood in the narrow kitchen, the heat of the stove pressing against his face, stirring a pot of bone broth that had been simmering for six hours. The scent was heavy, cloying, a mix of marrow and dried herbs that clung to the back of his throat. He needed the residency...
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