The Wistful Throne
The gauge needle shuddered, sticking halfway between the red and the black, and Elias Thorne watched it with the hollow patience of a man waiting for a verdict he already knew was guilty. "Is it jammed, or is it listening?" Marcus Vane asked from the doorway, his voice light, detached, as if discussing the weather outside the mint’s soot-stained windows. He leaned against the frame, arms...
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