The Distant Threshold
The dream was always the same, a jagged fracture in the air that split the world into two halves. Elias Thorne woke with the taste of iron in his mouth, the phantom pain of a cut across his cheek that did not exist on his skin. He was thirty years old, a man carved from the same hard wood as the desk he sat behind, and he had spent the last three nights chasing a face in the glass. The face was...
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