The Wistful Mirror
Elias Thorne woke with the taste of iron and antiseptic on his tongue. The dream had been simple, a cascade of glass shattering against concrete, each shard catching the harsh fluorescent light until the room was a blinding mosaic of broken reflections. He sat up on the narrow bunk, his joints popping in the sterile silence of Cell Block C. The air in the Federal Bureau of Prisons facility in...
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