The Wistful Petal
The champagne flute in your right hand trembles, a fine, high-pitched vibration that travels up your wrist and settles in the hollow of your throat, while the chandelier above fractures the light into a thousand jagged, screaming stars. You are Elias Thorne, a federal marshal of twenty years, and you are standing in the East Room of the White House, surrounded by the soft, suffocating hum of...
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