The Distant Wound
The door clicked shut. The sound was small, dry, like a bone snapping in a quiet room. "Did you hear that, Elias?" I didn't turn around. I was looking at the shelves. They rose from the floor to a ceiling lost in shadow, packed with boxes that smelled of mildew and old ink. The air was thick, stagnant, and cold. It pressed against my skin, a damp chill that seeped into the joints of my knees. I...
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