The Faded Paradox
The banquet hall smelled of burnt tallow and stale beer, a thick, cloying fog that settled into the wool of Detective Elias Thorne’s uniform and clung to his skin like a second, heavier layer of flesh. He stood at the periphery of the long oak table, his hands clasped behind his back, the knuckles white and swollen, the joints popping with a sound that was too loud in the hushed reverence of...
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