The Distant Blade
You cannot hold a pen if your hand is a sieve. Elias Thorne stood before the mahogany desk of Director Halloway, the air in the office thick with the smell of fresh varnish and the low, electric hum of the server bank in the corner, a sound that seemed to vibrate directly into the marrow of his shin bones, and he watched as Halloway’s gaze moved from the cataloging report to the trembling...
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