The Wistful Throne
The rain hammered against the corrugated tin roof of the depot with a rhythmic, metallic violence that seemed to vibrate directly into the marrow of your bones, a relentless drumming that drowned out the sound of your own breathing as you stood huddled in the corner of the cramped dispatch room, your fingers wrapped so tightly around the cold iron of your badge case that the knuckles had turned...
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