The Wistful Ashes
The steel surface of Warden Elias Thorne’s desk was a mirror of cold, unyielding perfection, reflecting his own face back at him with a clarity that felt less like sight and more like accusation. He was thirty years old, a man who had spent the last decade polishing the edges of his humanity until they were smooth and sharp enough to cut, yet in that grey reflection, he saw only a hollow...
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