The Distant Wound
The pencil tip snaps against the page, a small, sharp sound that cuts through the low hum of the ventilation fans in the Oakhaven Censoring Bureau. Arthur Vane does not look up. He picks up the replacement lead from the tray, his fingers clumsy and stained with the gray dust of the paper shreds that pile up beside his desk like ash. He is thirty-two years old, and the hunger in his stomach is a...
0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 2 Views 0 Vista previa