The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-18 12:26:23 -

The iron tasted of blood and old rain as Silas Vance bit down on the strap, his teeth gritted against the copper tang of his own vitality. He was pinned beneath the weight of the night watchman, a man whose face was a blur of rage and institutional duty, their bodies tangled in the narrow corridor of the Whitmore Estate. The air was thick with the smell of damp plaster and the ozone scent of...

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