The Faded Quadrant
The gaslight in the Grand Atrium of the Imperial Customs House did not so much illuminate the room as it suspended the dust in a thick, amber haze, turning the grandeur of the Victorian industrial age into something suffocating and slow. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the periphery of the banquet, his uniform pressed to a razor’s edge, his medals cold against the wool of his chest. He watched...
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