The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-22 01:06:44 -

The Faded Bouquet

The rain in Leeds does not wash things clean; it only makes the grime slicker. I sat in the corner of the canteen, the only place in the base where the air didn’t taste of copper and stale coffee. Around me, the men laughed, their voices roughened by the week’s work, but I kept my eyes on the object resting in my jacket pocket. It was a small, rectangular thing, no larger than a deck of cards,...

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