The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended gray veil that turned the cobblestones of the palace courtyard into a dark, rippling mirror of the sky. Commander Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the wet slate, his hands clasped behind his back, his uniform a stark, rigid block of charcoal against the damp, breathing architecture of the hall. He was a man who had spent thirty years in...
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