The Wistful Witness
The inspector’s boots made a dull, rhythmic thud against the linoleum, a sound that seemed to vibrate up through the soles of Elias Thorne’s own shoes and settle heavily in his knees, and he watched the man walk past the rows of empty beds with the mechanical precision of a man counting inventory rather than people, his face a mask of bureaucratic indifference that Elias had spent twenty years...
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