The Faded Paradox
The walls of the Station House did not merely stand; they breathed, a slow, tidal expansion and contraction that synced with the heavy, arrhythmic thump of my own heart, which had long since ceased to be a biological pump and had become instead a drumbeat of accusation in the hollows of my ribs, where I sat in the dim, amber-lit interrogation room, staring at the scarred oak table as if it were...
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