The Faded Paradox
The left hand was shaking. Not a tremble. A vibration. A high-frequency hum in the bone. Elias Vance stood in the center of the interrogation room. The fluorescent lights buzzed. A dull, yellow drone. It drilled into his skull. He watched his own fingers. They were pale. Thin. The skin pulled tight over the knuckles. He had been a detective for twenty years. He knew how fear looked. He knew how...
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