PART 1 — The Place With White Curtains The first thing I remember clearly is the smell of potato soup. Not the bruise. Not the document. Not Elena Voss smiling at me across the polished desk while she explained, in a voice soft enough to be mistaken for kindness, that…
PART 1 The first thing I remember clearly is the sound of the vending machine at the end of the hallway. It had a loose panel or an old motor, maybe both, and it gave off this low, tired hum that seemed too loud in the space between the lockers.…