The Wistful Mirror
The elevator doors closed. Marcus stared at the reflection in the polished steel. It was not his face. It was a stranger’s. Pale. Tired. The eyes were hollow pits. He did not blink. The stranger did not blink. The elevator rose. Floor four. Floor five. The numbers ticked up. Red LEDs. Cold light. He pressed the button for the top floor. The doors opened. The office was empty. Glass walls. Floor...
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