The Pale Bonsai
Thorne. The name hung in the air of the sterile office, stripped of warmth by the hum of the ventilation system that had been running continuously for six hours. Elias Thorne looked up from the desk where he sat, his hands still wrapped around the small, tarnished silver pocket watch, its surface smooth and cold against his palms, a texture that felt more real than the laminate tabletop beneath...
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