The Pale Echo
The glass of the atrium shatters not with a sound, but with a sudden, violent absence of light, and you are standing in the center of the Hall of Mirrors when the world peels away like wet paper. You are not supposed to be here. You are a man who has crossed oceans to be forgotten, a refugee of memory who speaks four languages fluently and none of them with the ease of a native, and yet here...
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