The Wistful Witness
The ceramic bird, a glaze of iridescent blue that shimmered like the surface of a frozen lake, sat upon the polished oak desk of Lieutenant Commander Silas Thorne, its form perfect, its symmetry mathematically precise, yet fundamentally fragile under the weight of the silence that had settled over the Bureau of Anomalous Phenomena. Silas did not look at it; he looked at the man standing before...
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