The Faded Apartment
Deepak Nair sat in the dark of the holding cell, the cold concrete seeping through the thin cotton of his uniform until it felt less like a floor and more like a second skin, a heavy, damp shroud that pressed against the bruised flesh of his shoulder where the bullet had grazed, a wound that throbbed in time with the distant, rhythmic pounding of rain against the high, barred window. The pain...
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