The Golden Mirror
The badge was heavy. It sat on my chest like a stone in a well, pulling the fabric of my shirt down, anchoring me to the floor of the interrogation room. I looked at it. The gold had dulled. Years of sweat and rain had eaten into the edges. The star in the center was barely visible now, worn down to a flat, dark spot. It was a mirror, but it showed nothing. "You're not listening, Thomas."...
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