The Distant Nightmare
The glass bowl sat in the center of the sterile white table, a perfect sphere of tempered silica that seemed to hold its breath, catching the harsh fluorescent light of the conference room and refracting it into cold, fractured rainbows that danced across the polished oak floor, a silent, trembling warning that hung in the air like the scent of ozone before a storm, while Elias Thorne sat...
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