The Distant Blade
The hex key sat in Elias Thorne’s palm, cold and jagged, a small iron tooth that had once bit into the steel of the Meridian Bridge’s main span. He turned it over, the weight of it familiar, a physical anchor against the drifting fog of his memory. In the windowless office on the fourteenth floor, the air was stale, recycled through vents that hummed with a low, industrial thrum. Elias was...
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