The Golden Greenhouse
The dream always began with the weight. It was a specific, crushing pressure on the left shoulder, a sensation so familiar it had become part of the architecture of his sleep. Sergeant Elias Thorne woke not to the alarm, but to the phantom ache, his hand instinctively reaching for the sidearm that was no longer there. The room was dim, the morning light filtering through the venetian blinds in...
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