The Golden Mirror
The intake form lay on the stainless-steel tray, its edges sharp enough to cut, the ink still wet and smelling faintly of industrial solvent. Elena Vane signed it with a hand that trembled not from fear, but from the grinding ache in her knuckles, a pain that had become a constant, low-level hum beneath her thoughts. She was thirty-four, a senior diagnostician at St. Jude’s Clinic, and she had...
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