The Faded Frequency
The taste of copper filled my mouth. It was thick. It was old. I spat it onto the kitchen floor. The tile was cold under my boots. My hand still gripped the hilt of my sidearm. The barrel was smoking. A thin blue wisp curled toward the ceiling. It smelled like ozone and burnt hair. My brother, Elias, was on the other side of the table. He was not bleeding. He was not dead. He was watching me....
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