The Faded Quadrant
The seal on your badge has been cracked for three days, a hairline fracture that catches the gaslight in your station house. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-four, a constable in Oakhaven, and you want your pension. You want it because your knees ache when it rains and because you have served twelve years for a pittance that barely covers the rent on a room that smells of damp wool. Mayor Vane sits...
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