The Wistful Incense
The air in the administrative wing of Blackwood Correctional Facility did not smell of decay, as Elias Thorne had expected it to, but of antiseptic and stale coffee, a sterile scent that seemed to scrub the very humanity out of the room. He sat across from Warden Halloway, a man whose face was as unmarked and unyielding as the concrete walls surrounding them, and watched the warden’s eyes slide...
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