The Wistful Saga
The banquet hall of the Ministry of Internal Security hums with the low, electric buzz of chandeliers that have been polished until they glare like white stars pinned to the ceiling. You sit at the long table, the mahogany surface cool and smooth beneath your fingertips, the wood grain worn shallow by decades of elbows and ink-stained sleeves. Around you, the officers of the Capital District...
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