The Faded Quadrant
The rifle was stripped from Elias Thorne’s hands with a sound like a bone snapping. Captain Halloway did not shout. He simply took the weapon, examined the barrel with a critical eye, and set it on the table with a thud that silenced the barracks. The air in the room was thick, damp, and tasted of copper and old sweat. Halloway’s face was a mask of bureaucratic indifference, the kind that cost...
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