The Distant Blade
The steel was cold, not with the chill of the metal itself, but with the absence of the blood that should have warmed it, and Elias Thorne stood in the center of the sterile, white-walled interrogation room, his hands bound by the invisible, crushing weight of his own rigid adherence to a code that had long since rusted into an inescapable cage, while the camera in the corner, a black...
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