The Wistful Throne
The alarm did not ring. It screamed, a jagged tear in the silence of the night shift that split the air of the precinct’s break room. For a fraction of a second, the only sound was the high-pitched whine of the system failing, followed by the heavy, wet thud of something falling. Then, the chaos. Detective Elias Thorne sat up from the vinyl bench, his spine aching with a dull, familiar grind....
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