The Distant Ghost
The roof caved in with a sound like a bone snapping. Dust. Silence. Then the wet cough. You are pinned. Not dead. Not yet. The air tastes of copper and old paper. It is the library. Your sanctuary. Your cage. You remember the order. *Secure the archive.* It was a simple command. General Thorne’s voice, crisp as a razor, sliding through the radio static. He stood in the war room, immaculate in...
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