The Faded Root
The pin was red. It was a small, synthetic thing, the kind you might find in a discount bin at a pharmacy or stuck to the inside of a door in a government office, but to Arthur Penhaligon, it was the entire weight of the world. He wore it on the left lapel of his gray suit, a garment that had seen better decades and certainly better men. The office was not an office, not in the way a human...
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