The Wistful Skyline
The left knee had been screaming since the suspect’s elbow struck the table, a high, thin whine that cut through the low hum of the ventilation system, but Elias Thorne kept his weight on it, his boots planted on the cold linoleum, his hands locked around the wrists of the man who had been screaming for twenty minutes. The room was a box of gray concrete and bad air, the only light a single...
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