The Faded Paradox
The rain did not fall so much as it insisted, a relentless, cold static against the single-pane window of the interrogation room, blurring the fluorescent lights into sickly, yellow smears that dripped down the glass like infected tears, and within that gray, suspended reality, Elias Thorne sat with his hands cuffed to the metal table, the cold steel biting into the soft, vulnerable flesh of...
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