The Wistful Mirror
The champagne was cold and the music was loud, a thumping bass that vibrated in Elias Thorne’s teeth. He stood by the marble column, a glass of sparkling water in his hand, watching Marcus Vane move through the crowd like a shark through kelp. Vane was smiling. He always smiled. It was a tight, thin thing, stretched over a mouth that had forgotten how to be anything else. Elias needed the...
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