The Distant Journey
The rain against the windowpane was a dull, rhythmic drumming, a sound that had become the only constant in the last forty-eight hours. You sat in the corner of the dimly lit interrogation room, your boots muddy, your uniform still stiff with the chill of the corridor. Across from you sat Elias Thorne, a man whose face was a map of old scars and newer fears, his hands cuffed to the metal table....
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima