The Golden Mirror
The glass in the oval frame above your desk is cracked, a spiderweb of fractures that distorts your reflection into a fragmented, hollow thing. You are Thomas Hale, a detective of the City Police, and you are thirty-four years old, though the lines around your eyes suggest a man who has seen too much winter. It is November, 1912, and the air in the cramped office smells of stale tobacco and wet...
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