The Distant Journey

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2026-08-19 06:07:49 -

The air in the holding cell smelled of wet wool and stale coffee, a scent that had become indistinguishable from the interior of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s own skull. He sat on the metal bench, hands cuffed behind his back, watching a single drop of condensation trace a slow, arcing path down the cold steel wall. It was a Tuesday in November, the kind of day where the light seemed to die before it...

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