The Distant Whispers
Thorne, you’re looking at the wrong layer. The voice was Miller’s, low and gravelly, cutting through the hum of the jackhammers. Elias did not turn around. He stood in the center of the community center’s east wing, his boots sinking slightly into the wet concrete dust, and watched the floorboard lift. It was a subtle movement, a millimeter or two, but it was enough to make the level in his...
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