The Wistful Witness
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a grey, suspended judgment that turned the cobblestones of the Palace Square into a mirror of shattered reflections. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the head of the guard, his uniform pressed and immaculate, a sharp geometric contradiction to the weeping masonry of the Chancellery behind him. He was not there to observe; he was there to...
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