The Distant Clue
The dream was a static hum. A gray noise filling the lungs. Thomas Wren woke with the taste of copper in his mouth. He sat up. The room was cold. The radiator ticked. A dry, rhythmic click. Like a bone snapping. He looked at his hands. They were still. But they felt heavy. Like lead. Like tools not his own. He dressed. The suit hung loose. It had always hung loose. He had lost weight. The...
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