The Distant Journey
The pen scratches against the paper, a sound like dry leaves skittering across a grave. You hold your breath, your fingers trembling not from cold but from the sheer, crushing weight of the ink pooling under your nails. Director Vane stands over you, his shadow a long, thin blade cutting across the basement floor. He does not shout. He does not threaten with violence. He simply waits, his face...
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