The Wistful Throne
The brass button sat on the stainless steel desk of Warden Elias Thorne, cold to the touch despite the heat radiating from the server banks behind him. It was tarnished, pitted by time, and bore no insignia that matched any of the forty-two federal correctional facilities in the country, yet it felt heavy in his palm, a weight that seemed to pull at the marrow of his fingers. Thorne,...
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