The Wistful Skyline
The ceramic shard did not look like a weapon. It looked like a fragment of a blue and white porcelain bowl, the kind found in estate sales or forgotten attic corners, chipped at the rim and stained with decades of tea. But in the cold, sterile light of the sterile containment unit, it cut the air with a precision that defied physics. Elara watched it fly, a silent arc against the gray concrete...
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