The Wistful Silence
The brass button on my uniform coat had worn smooth, a small, circular erasure in the fabric where years of friction had ground away the insignia of rank. I sat alone in the study, the room heavy with the scent of old paper and the damp, metallic taste of the storm pressing against the leaded windows. The rain lashed the glass in a rhythmic, relentless assault, a sound that felt less like...
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