The Wistful Witness
The cracked windshield of the patrol cruiser had become a second face for Elias Thorne, a jagged web of spiderlines that fractured his reflection into a dozen older, harder men who had long since stopped caring about the pension forms stacked in his glovebox. He was forty-two, with twenty-six years of service etched into the grey at his temples and the persistent ache in his left knee, and he...
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