The Distant Wound
The intake form lay open on the stainless-steel table, its grid of checkboxes stark against the grey linoleum. Elias Thorne signed his name in the bottom right corner, the pen scratching a sound that seemed too loud in the sterile quiet of the Neo-Veridian Institute. He did not look up at the receptionist, a woman whose face was blurred by the fluorescent glare; he was focused entirely on the...
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