The Faded Quadrant
The rain in Harrowgate did not wash the city clean; it merely turned the soot into a slurry that clung to the cobblestones and the coats of the men who walked them. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood before the iron gate of the old border outpost, his breath pluming in the grey air of November, 1904, as he watched the final crate of equipment being loaded onto a flatbed truck. He had served twenty...
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