The Wistful Mirror
"The coat is torn, sir, and the man reeks of cheap tobacco and despair; I say we show him the door before he soils the carpet." Elias Thorne stood in the antechamber of Lord Vane’s new headquarters, a sprawling glass-and-steel monolith in the financial district that smelled of floor wax and ozone, and listened to the security guard’s voice echo off the polished marble, a sound that felt less...
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