The Wistful Dinner
The rain had been falling for three days without pause, a steady, gray curtain that blurred the edges of the world and turned the air inside the bunker into a thick, suffocating soup of damp wool and old iron. Captain Elias Thorne sat at the head of the long steel table, his hands resting flat on the surface, fingers splayed as if trying to anchor himself against a current that pulled at his...
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