The Faded Frequency
The brass badge in my hand is warm, the metal slick with the sweat of my palm. It has a chip in the rim, a small scar from a door frame three winters ago, and I run my thumb over the rough edge until the skin there goes numb. I am Thomas, thirty-four, a constable in the city, and I want to keep this badge and my silence. The opposing force is not a man, but the weight of the city’s prejudice...
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