The Distant Blade
"You’re three days late on the submission, Elias." The voice in the headset was flat, stripped of inflection, a synthetic hum that vibrated against the bone behind his ear. Elias kept his eyes on the wet asphalt, the white lines blurring into a continuous smear under the wipers’ frantic, rhythmic snap. He was thirty-four years old, and his lower back ached with a dull, persistent throb that had...
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