The Golden Visit
The banquet hall smells of stale wine and wet wool, a thick, cloying scent that clings to the back of your throat. You are Elias Thorne, a city constable of forty-two years, and you stand at the edge of the celebration for your department’s anniversary, watching the lights flicker against the glass. You do not want the cake, or the applause, or the handshakes from men who call you brother in...
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