The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-20 15:24:06 -

The coffee was cold. It sat in a white cup on the polished obsidian desk, a small, dark island in a sea of black stone. Commander Elias Thorne watched the liquid settle. No steam rose. The air in the War Room was stagnant, thick with the scent of ozone and old fear. Outside the reinforced glass, the city of Seattle churned under a gray, weeping sky. Rain lashed against the panes. It looked like...

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