The Wistful Skyline
The vial weighed exactly four ounces in Elias Thorne’s palm, a heavy, cold counterweight to the thirty-two years of life he had already lived. He counted the seconds between the ticks of the wall clock in the observation room, a mechanical heartbeat that kept time for no one but the institution, and he knew that if he could just last until the final shift, the discharge papers would be signed,...
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