The Wistful Saga
14th October, 1912. The air in the precinct office has taken on a metallic tang, a scent of wet iron and old blood that seems to seep from the walls rather than the streets. I am thirty-four years old, with twelve years of service behind me and a pension that feels like a mirage in the heat of a July afternoon. I want only to secure my future, to prove to Chief Halloway that my integrity is not...
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