The Faded Alibi
The fluorescent lights of the Meridian Data Center hummed a low, persistent drone that sounded less like electricity and more like the breathing of a sleeping beast. Elias Thorne sat at his station, a row of identical desks stretching out into the sterile, blue-tinged gloom. He was a man of fifty, with hands that had once held a violin bow with surgical precision and now held a mouse with the...
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