The Distant Affair
The resignation letter was sitting on the desk, the ink still damp, when the feather landed on the signature line. Elias Thorne did not jump. He was a man who had spent twelve years learning to keep his hands steady under fire, and the sudden presence of the black plume did not register as a threat, but as an administrative error. It was a single, perfect quill, blacker than the void, resting...
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