The Distant Blade
The bus groans as it pulls into the station, a low, metallic complaint that vibrates through the soles of your boots and settles heavy in your chest. You step off onto the wet asphalt, the air thick with the smell of diesel and damp wool, and you feel the eyes of the commuters on you. They do not see a man; they see a uniform. They see the stiff collar, the brass buttons catching the gray...
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