The Distant Affair
The rain against the windowpane of the Ministry of Internal Affairs was not merely water striking glass; it was a relentless, rhythmic accusation, a drumming that seemed to vibrate in the very marrow of Silas Thorne’s bones. He sat in the high-backed chair, his hands resting on the polished oak desk, fingers interlaced so tightly that the knuckles had turned the color of old parchment. Before...
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