The Wistful Mirror
"Cut the cord," Elias said. His voice was a dry rasp, stripped of warmth by the draft that howled through the stone walls of the keep. "Cut it," he repeated. Maren stood before him. She was not his sister. She was a mirror made of flesh and steel. They had grown up in the same shadow, trained in the same brutal rhythm. The Order of the Iron Veil did not make brothers. It made tools. And tools...
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