The Wistful Ashes
The celebration for the fortieth anniversary of the Iron Perimeter was a affair of rusted cutlery and stale rye, held in the hollow of the Gatehouse where the air tasted of metal and old blood. Warden Elias Thorne sat at the head of the table, his uniform pressed sharp against a body that had long since forgotten how to relax, watching the Bureau officers toast with cups that chipped at the...
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