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Each breath shuddered out of him like that in itself was his punishment.
In the dimly lit room, shadows danced across the walls, creating an atmosphere thick with foreboding. The only furniture was a luxurious, white bed that seemed to absorb the faint light, inviting, yet sinister. Every step on the sterile tiles echoed like a heartbeat, amplifying the tension in the air. How much time had it been, months? A year? He was the one governing his existence.
When he could eat.
When he got a moment of respite.
Iason Mink.
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