The Distant Summer

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2026-08-17 13:05:35 -

The banquet hall smelled of roasted pheasant and stale sweat, a thick, cloying scent that hung in the air like a heavy curtain. Marcus Thorne stood by the window, his back to the room, watching the rain streak the glass. He was a man of few words, a tactical officer who preferred the quiet clarity of a briefing room to the chaotic noise of social obligation. But here, in the gilded cage of the...

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