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At 11:58 AM, Elias was standing by the bay window, watching the street. The neighborhood was quiet, suspended in the pale, washed-out gray of a Tuesday afternoon. He held his mug of coffee with two hands, not because he was cold, but because he needed something to anchor him to the room. The furniture, the rug, the dusty fern in the corner—all of it felt temporary now, as if the atmosphere was holding its breath.

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