The Distant Wound

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2026-08-18 19:31:42 -

The Distant Wound

The taste of iron was always the first thing. It coated the tongue, heavy and cold, like a coin held under the jaw. Marcus lay in the white room, the sheets smelling of bleach and something sweeter, something rotting beneath the sterile surface. He did not open his eyes. He knew the texture of the air, the humidity that clung to his skin like a second, wet shirt. He was a man of the Bureau, a...

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