The Wistful Throne
The rain in the Scottish Highlands did not fall so much as it hung, a grey curtain of mist that erased the horizon and turned the world into a series of wet, breathing surfaces. Ewan MacAllister sat on the hood of the battered Land Rover, his knees drawn up to his chest, watching the water bead on the black paint. He was a man who had spent thirty years enforcing the law in the quiet, jagged...
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