The Distant Wound
The glass did not break so much as it simply ceased to be, dissolving into a fine, glittering mist that coated the tongue with the taste of iron and old rain, a sensation that Colonel Elias Thorne felt more in the marrow of his bones than in the immediate shock of the impact, for the chamber was not merely a room but a suspended state of being, a vacuum where the air itself seemed to hold its...
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