The Faded Photograph
The fog did not lift; it thickened, pressing against the single pane of glass in the outpost’s interrogation room like a living thing seeking entry. Elias Thorne sat at the steel table, his hands folded, watching the reflection in the dark mirror mounted on the far wall. In the glass, his face was not his own. It was a smear of ink, a spectral outline that bled and shifted whenever he drew...
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