The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-19 03:01:47 -

The room was white. Blinding. It smelled of bleach and stale coffee, the sharp, acidic tang of fear that had soaked into the carpet over thirty years of interrogations. Sergeant Elias Thorne sat in the center chair. His hands were cuffed to the table. The cuffs were tight. He did not move. He did not breathe. He was a statue of flesh and bone. Across from him sat Officer Miller. Miller was...

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