The Wistful Skyline
The fluorescent lights of the forensic archive hummed with a low, electric drone that seemed to vibrate directly inside the marrow of Dr. Elias Thorne’s skull, a persistent, mechanical itch that he had long since ceased to try and scratch. He sat hunched over a steel table that was cold enough to seep into his bones, the sterile white surface reflecting the pale, washed-out light that hung in...
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