The Faded Quadrant
The fog in Blackwood Prison does not roll in; it seeps up from the foundations, a cold, wet breath that settles on the stone like a shroud. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a senior warden who has spent two decades keeping the peace in this damp, ancient institution. Your pension is six months away, a sum that will allow you to leave this place of grey stone and grey men, and you...
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