The Distant Wound
The brass buttons on Sergeant Elias Thorne’s tunic had long since lost their luster, worn down to a dull, ghostly gray by the relentless friction of his own hands, a tactile map of his anxiety that he could trace even in the dark of the interrogation cell where the air tasted of copper and stale tobacco. He sat across from the man who had once been his brother in arms, Corporal Silas Vane,...
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