The Golden Maze
The radio crackled with static. It was a dry, scratching sound, like a finger dragging across a chalkboard. Elias kept his back against the cold brick of the hallway. He did not breathe. He held his rifle with the white-knuckled grip of a man holding a dying bird. The house was quiet. Too quiet. In twenty years of service, Elias had learned that silence was not the absence of noise. It was the...
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