The Wistful Saga
The air in the hall smelled of wet wool and stale beer, a thick, suffocating mix that clung to the skin and settled deep in the lungs of everyone who crowded into the low-ceilinged room. It was a celebration for the men of the Ninth Precinct, a raucous affair held in the back of a butcher shop that had been converted into a meeting hall, where the butcher’s blood had long since faded from the...
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