The Wistful Witness
The iron door locks with a sound like a bone breaking. You are in the basement. The air is thick, tasting of rust and old sweat. You are a man of the law. You wear the uniform. It is tight across your shoulders. You feel heavy. You feel small. Above you, the world continues. You can hear the muffled thud of footsteps. They are not for you. They are for him. He is the one who owns this place. He...
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