The Dead Man's Switch
The rain in Manhattan didn't wash things clean; it just turned the city into a blurred watercolor of neon and asphalt. Elias Thorne sat in a dimly lit diner in Hell's Kitchen, watching the steam rise from a cup of black coffee that tasted like battery acid. He was a man of shadows, a senior intelligence operative who had spent two decades cleaning up the messes of the powerful. He knew where...
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