The Pale Path
The watch sat on the nightstand, a simple band of steel and glass, ticking with a rhythm that felt less like time passing and more like a slow, persistent bleeding. Elias Thorne lay in the dark, the sheets tangled around his legs, his body a map of bruises that throbbed in time with the second hand. He was a man who had spent thirty years wearing a uniform that promised order, but tonight the...
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