The Wistful Mirror
Thorne. The word hung in the damp air of the basement, sharp and singular, cut by the heavy breathing of the man on the other side of the iron desk. Elias Thorne looked up from his hands, which were stained with the grey dust of the floor tiles, and met the eyes of Director Halloway. The light in the room was sickly, a yellowish smear from a single bulb that buzzed like a trapped fly, casting...
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