The Faded Paradox
The rain against the leaded glass of the High Court did not fall so much as it hammered, a rhythmic, violent drumming that seemed to vibrate through the very marrow of Sir Julian’s bones, a physical reminder of the world’s relentless, indifferent churn outside these hallowed, dust-mote-filled walls where the air was thick with the scent of beeswax, old paper, and the metallic tang of fear. He...
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