The Distant Ghost
The taste is metallic. It coats the tongue, thick and cold, like the residue of a broken vial. You swallow. The fluid burns a path down the throat, a line of fire in the dark. You are in the chair. The restraints are tight against the wrists, the leather biting into the skin. The room is small. The walls are white. The light is sterile. You are not alone. He sits across from you. Elias Thorne....
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