The Faded Photograph
The rain had been falling for three days, a cold, persistent sheet that turned the cobblestones of the upper city into a mirror of grey sludge and fractured light, and it was in this damp, suffocating silence that Elias Thorne, a man whose uniform had seen better decades and whose bones carried the dull, rhythmic ache of old fractures, stood before the heavy oak doors of the High Council...
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