The Wistful Dinner
The dream is always the same: the oak floorboards of Blackwood Manor groaning under the weight of a silence so heavy it presses against the eardrums like deep water. I wake at four in the morning, my heart hammering a frantic, arrhythmic code against my ribs, the taste of copper and old dust thick in my mouth. I am Elias Thorne, a senior federal inspector with twenty years of service, and I...
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