The Wistful Mirror
The evidence locker in the basement of the Millhaven Sheriff’s Department smelled of mildew and old brass, a scent that Elias Thorne had long since learned to associate with the stagnation of justice, and it was there, in the cold blue glow of the fluorescent tube, that he found the tarnished silver locket wedged behind a box of seized ammunition, a small, heavy thing that seemed to vibrate...
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