The Faded Quadrant
The rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the cobblestones of Millhaven into slick, mirror-like pools reflecting the dull, bruised sky above. You stood at the threshold of the old municipal library, your hands heavy with the weight of the brass quadrant, the instrument you had carried from the war, its surface etched with the coordinates of a place that no...
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