The Faded Paradox
The silver cufflink sat in the palm of my hand, cold and smooth as a river stone, its surface tarnished by weeks of neglect. It was a simple thing, a circle of polished metal with a single, engraved oak leaf at its center, but it held the weight of the last three days in Oakhaven. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a constable with twelve years of service, and I am currently suspended...
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