The Distant Nightmare
The paper was thin, translucent, and smelled faintly of the linoleum floor it had been resting on for three days. Elias Thorne held the bill under the harsh fluorescent light of the bakery breakroom, the numbers blurring into a grey smear that matched the color of the dust on his eyelashes. It was a debt, not a payment, a reminder that the smugglers who had pulled him from the river at the...
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