The Faded Chronicle
"Drop it." The command hung in the air. Thick. Heavy. Marcus stared at the floor. The linoleum was cracked. A spiderweb of gray fissures ran beneath his boots. He looked up. Sergeant Vance stood over him. Vance’s face was a mask. Tight jaw. Hard eyes. "Drop it, Marcus." Marcus did not drop it. He held the pen. It was a cheap plastic thing. Blue cap. White barrel. He gripped it until his...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 27 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen