The Distant Ghost
The marble in the Department of Justice does not just reflect light; it absorbs it, holding the glare of the morning sun until it becomes a dull, heavy heat that settles in the bones. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a senior federal marshal who has spent the last two decades cleaning up the messes that others prefer not to look at, and you want only the quiet, permanent tenure that...
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