The Faded Ruin
The crystal goblet in Elias Thorne’s hand weighed almost nothing, a fragile thing of leaded glass and cold water, yet it felt like a stone in his palm. He stood at the edge of the banquet hall, his Sector Warden uniform pressed to a razor’s edge, the silver chevrons on his shoulder catching the light from the chandeliers above. The annual Gala of the Bureau was in full swing, a sea of tailored...
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