The Wistful Witness

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2026-08-19 13:11:42 -

The smell of burnt sugar and ozone was the first thing that reached Elias Thorne, a scent that defied the sterile, recycled air of the containment wing. He stood at the perimeter of the glass, his hands clasped behind his back, the leather of his duty belt creaking softly under the weight of a sidearm he had not drawn in three years. Inside the room, suspended in a column of pale, humming...

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