The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-22 09:33:59 -

The rain hit the pavement in sharp, white sheets. It was cold. The kind of cold that bit into the bone. Marcus stood on the corner. He watched the water run. It pooled around his boots. Black leather. Scuffed. He adjusted his collar. The uniform felt heavy. It always felt heavy. Like a suit of armor made of wet wool. He had been here for an hour. Waiting. The city hummed. It was a low, dirty...

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