The Golden Mirror
The light in the interrogation room was a pale, surgical white, the kind that stripped the color from the walls and left only the grey of Elias’s uniform and the black of his shoes. He stood before the mirror, a slab of polished silver framed in brass, and his hands shook. It was a tremor that started in the knuckles and traveled up the forearm, a mechanical failure that his twenty-four years...
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