The Distant Whispers
The heavy oak table in the War Room was not a place for rest, but for the slow, grinding work of statecraft, and it was there that Commander Elias Thorne sat, his hands resting on the polished surface like a man waiting for a train that had long since departed. The room was dim, lit only by the amber glow of gas lamps that hissed softly in the corners, casting long, trembling shadows that...
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