The Pale Echo
The incident report lay on the wet concrete, its white paper darkening at the edges where the rain had pooled, and you picked it up with a gloved hand, the cold seeping through the latex to your skin, the ink of the form already blurring into a grey smear that looked less like data and more like a bruise. You were Elias Thorne, a federal agent with twenty years of service, and the document...
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