The Distant Nightmare
The gaslight hisses in the antechamber, a thin, reedy sound that matches the trembling of your hand. You are Elias Thorne, and you are thirty years old, though the shadows under your eyes make you look a decade older. In your palm, the vial of synthetic anesthetic catches the pale yellow light, a tiny, fragile universe of possibility. You have come to Veridia to save your clinic, to secure the...
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