The Wistful Witness
Colonel Elias Thorne stood at the center of the rotunda. The marble floor was cold. His boots echoed. He held the tablet. It was heavy. The screen was black. He waited. The room was vast. Gold leaf peeled from the ceiling. Shadows pooled in the corners. The air was stale. It smelled of dust and old paper. This was the Ministry of Internal Security. It was a palace of bureaucracy. Power lived...
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