The Pale Path
The fluorescent lights in the intake corridor flicker, a staccato rhythm that syncs perfectly with the erratic hammering of your heart, and the air tastes of ozone and old copper, a metallic tang that coats the back of your throat. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, a senior corrections officer with fifteen years of service in this maximum-security facility, and you are here to secure the...
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