The Distant Nightmare
The air in the atrium of the St. Jude’s Institute for Cognitive Architecture tasted of ozone and old paper, a sterile sweetness that Elias Thorne had come to associate with the slow erosion of his own identity. He stood alone in the center of the glass-domed hall, his reflection fragmented across the curved surfaces of the surveillance monitors that lined the upper balcony. It was late, the...
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