The Wistful Dinner
The iron rail of the prison cell was slick with condensation, a cold that seeped through the leather of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s gloves and settled into the marrow of his bones. He stood at the center of the cell, his breathing controlled, a rhythmic expansion and contraction that masked the tremor in his hands. The air in the sub-basement of the old mill town was thick, heavy with the scent of...
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