The Distant Joke
The glass in the window pane did not shatter. It burst. That was the only word that fit. The streetlights outside flickered, casting long, jagged shadows across the floorboards of the precinct’s holding cell. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the room, his hands at his sides. He did not look at the glass. He looked at the air where the glass had been. A fine mist hung there, cold and sharp,...
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