The Pale Door
The dream began not with light, but with the heavy, sterile hum of the ventilation system. Elias Thorne woke in a room that was not his, standing on a floor of polished obsidian that reflected his face with terrifying clarity. He was wearing the uniform of the Sentinel Corps, the fabric cold against his skin, the insignia on his collar a dull, dead silver. But it was the hands that stopped his...
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