The Distant Affair
The revolver lay heavy in Elias Thorne’s left hand, the walnut grip worn smooth by six years of night shifts in the industrial haze of Oakhaven. It was a service weapon, standard issue, yet in the cold damp of the foundry floor, it felt less like a tool of authority and more like a dead bird, inert and useless. Thorne was thirty-four years old, a sergeant who had dedicated his life to the rigid...
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