The Distant Whispers
The rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, gray sheet that turned the cobblestones of the Sterling Institute’s courtyard into a slick, reflective mirror, and I stood in the doorway of the Director’s office, my knuckles white as I gripped the leather satchel that held the only proof that the institution I had devoted twenty years to was rotting from the inside out. I was forty-two,...
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