The Distant Wound
The incinerator’s intake chute groaned, a metallic shriek that vibrated through the soles of Elias Thorne’s boots and up into his shin bones, a sound he had learned to ignore over twelve years of service but which now seemed to vibrate in sync with the tremor in his left hand. He gripped the control lever, his knuckles white against the cold steel, and watched the biometric readout on the wall...
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