The Distant Crown
The fluorescent tube above the sorting table buzzed, a low, sickening drone that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of Elias Thorne’s left wrist, a sound he had come to associate with the specific, rhythmic thumping of his own failing heart, which beat in a syncopated, arrhythmic pulse that he had learned to ignore as he sat alone in the subterranean municipal vault. It was three in the morning,...
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