The Faded Photograph
The rain had been falling for three days, a steady, gray drumming against the high leaded windows of the War Room, turning the world outside into a blur of wet stone and mud. Commander Elias Thorne sat at the head of the long oak table, his hands clasped loosely around a mug of cold tea, watching the steam from the fireplace dance in the stagnant air. He was a man carved from the same granite...
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