The Wistful Saga
The heavy oak desk in the center of the room was not merely a piece of furniture but a monolith of institutional silence, its surface scarred by decades of ink and the subtle, invisible weight of the men who had stood behind it, and Elias Thorne sat before it, his hands clasped loosely in his lap, feeling the peculiar, hollow ache of a man who has spent his life chasing shadows only to find...
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