The Distant Affair
The rain on the armored glass was not water, you realized, but a static charge, a fine, metallic mist that tasted of ozone and old blood on your tongue. You sat in the driver’s seat of the black SUV, the engine idling with a low, predatory hum, while the night pressed against the windows like a living thing. In the passenger seat, the evidence bag sat. Inside it, wrapped in white tissue paper...
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