The Wistful Dinner
The hall of the Ministry of Internal Order did not smell of power, but of damp wool and old brass. It was a place built for the Victorian era’s appetite for control, where the air hung heavy with the scent of gaslight and the polished floorboards creaked under the weight of invisible bureaucracy. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the head of the long mahogany table, his uniform immaculate, the...
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