The Wistful Petal
The rain hammered against the skylight of the attic office, a rhythmic, percussive violence that seemed to synchronize with the thumping of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s heart. He stood before the full-length mirror, his uniform pressed to a razor’s edge, the brass buttons catching the dim, amber light of the desk lamp. His face, reflected in the glass, was a map of lines etched by thirty years of...
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