The Distant Journey
The shatter of the glass did not sound like breaking. It sounded like a scream, long and thin, tearing through the humid air of the interrogation room, a sound that seemed to hang in the space between you and the man across the table. You did not flinch. You never flinched. That was the first thing they told you at the academy in Quantico, the thing that separated the men who lasted from the...
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