The Distant Threshold

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 01:15:39 -

The ink on my hands didn’t wash off. It never does. I stood in the center of the interrogation room, the fluorescent lights humming a low, sick note that seemed to vibrate in my teeth. The walls were white, a sterile, aggressive white that stripped the shadows from the corners. In front of me sat Marcus. He looked smaller than he did in the photos. Just a man in a rumpled suit, his tie...

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