The Distant Summer
The mirror cracked. Not with a sound. With a silence so heavy it pressed against the eardrums like deep water. Elias stood in the room. The air tasted of iron and old dust. He looked down. His hands were steady. His hands were always steady. They had been steady for twenty years. They had been steady in the trenches. They had been steady in the mines. They were steady now. But the glass was...
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