The Pale Banner
The fluorescent lights of the Bureau’s seventh-floor bullpen hummed with a low, electric irritability that Elias Thorne had come to associate with the smell of stale coffee and impending obsolescence. At forty-five, with twenty years of federal service etched into the premature gray of his temples and the stiffness in his lower back, Elias stood before the glass-walled office of Director Vance,...
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