The Golden Mirror
Thorne. The name hung in the air, thin and sharp, spoken by a voice that was not there. Sergeant Elias Thorne did not look up. He sat in the center of the white room, his hands clasped between his knees, the leather of his gloves creaking softly with every shallow breath he took. The air was recycled, scrubbed of scent and warmth, leaving only the dry, static hum of the ventilation system. He...
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