The Golden Mirror
The highway cut a pale scar through the darkened pine forest, a ribbon of asphalt that wound endlessly into the Appalachian mist, and Elias Thorne drove his patrol car with a hand white-knuckled on the wheel, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror where the image of his wife, Sarah, seemed to linger not in glass, but in the air itself, a ghostly overlay of her face superimposed over the empty...
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