The Distant Clue
The dream began not with sight, but with the weight of the badge, a cold iron disk pressing into the hollow of Major Elias Thorne’s sternum, a gravity that defied the buoyancy of sleep. He was standing in the atrium of the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s new annex, a space designed to project an aura of sterile, bureaucratic omniscience, where the air was recycled through filters that...
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