The Distant Crown
The alarm had been ringing for three hours, a shrill, electronic shriek that had long since ceased to be a sound and had become a physical pressure against the eardrums. In the center of the sterile, white-tiled room, Elias Thorne sat on the floor, his back against the cold wall, holding a small, crumpled paper bag in his lap. Inside the bag, wrapped in a thin layer of waxed paper, was a...
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