The Distant Wound
The partition did not break with a sound; it simply ceased to be whole. Elias Thorne stood in the grey light of his office in the Ministry of Continuity, staring at the jagged hole where the obsidian glass had been. A single shard, thick as a finger, remained embedded in the oak of his desk, humming with a low, subsonic vibration that made his molars ache. He was thirty-two, a mid-level...
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