The Faded Alibi
The key was warm. Elias Thorne held it in his left hand, the brass teeth biting into the meat of his palm, a low hum vibrating up his wrist like a trapped wasp. It was the only thing in the barracks that felt alive, a domestic anomaly in a place designed to kill the soul. He had been here for three years, guarding men who were already dead inside, and he wanted only the pension that would let...
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