The Faded Quadrant
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the gravel path behind the detention center into a slick, brown river that swallowed the boots of those who dared to cross it. Silas Vane stood alone in the corner of the barracks, his back against the cold, damp brick, watching the water drip from the eaves in a steady, rhythmic percussion that sounded like a countdown to something he could not...
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