The Wistful Silence
Thorne, get out of my office before I have security throw you out. Councilman Halloway did not stand. He remained seated behind his mahogany desk, a surface so polished it reflected the gray slush of the Chicago winter outside the window, and he tapped a pen against the rejection letter in front of him. The tap was rhythmic, a small, dry sound that cut through the heavy air of the room. Elias...
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