The Distant Whispers
The rain tapped a frantic, irregular code against the high, reinforced windows of the containment unit, a sound that Dr. Elias Thorne had come to associate with the ticking of his own failing heart. He sat in the dim light of the observation deck, his hands resting on the cool glass, watching the figure of his daughter, Clara, move with a strange, mechanical precision within the sterile white...
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