The Faded Quadrant
The frost on the windowpane had turned to lace. It was a delicate, white web that caught the dim light of the hallway lamp. Elias stood before it. He pressed his thumb against the glass. The cold bit into his skin. It was a sharp, clean pain. He had worn the uniform of the state for thirty years. Now, he wore only a wool sweater. The gray fabric was thinning at the elbows. He looked at his...
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