The Wistful Throne
The transfer order lay on the desk, the paper yellowed by the sulfur-smoke that seeped through the barracks windows. It was a standard form, Form 44-B, requesting reassignment to the coastal garrison. Sergeant Elias Thorne read the stamp in the corner: DENIED. The ink was black, sharp against the beige, a small violence in a room full of grey dust. He signed the receipt line, his hand steady,...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima