The Golden Greenhouse
Thorne, you’re late for the briefing." The voice came from the doorway of the station house, belonging to Sergeant Miller, who leaned against the frame with his arms crossed. Elias Thorne straightened his back, a movement that cost him more than the twenty years of service behind it. He was forty-five, and his knees felt like they were filled with wet sand. He wanted the pension. He wanted the...
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