The Wistful Throne
The glass terrarium in the corner of the study had been cracked since Tuesday, a spiderweb fracture that seemed to pulse in the dim afternoon light. Thomas Bradshaw stood before it, his reflection ghostly in the shattered surface, his hands resting heavily on the mahogany desk. He was a man who measured the world in boundaries, in the clean lines of patrol routes and the rigid hierarchy of the...
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