The Faded Quadrant
The heavy oak table in the center of the hall was groaning under the weight of silver platters and crystal decanters, the air thick with the scent of roasted duck and spilled wine. It was a celebration, ostensibly for the retirement of Colonel Arthur Hale, but the atmosphere was brittle, stretched tight like a drum skin. Hale sat at the head of the table, his uniform pressed to a mirror shine,...
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