The Faded Shield
The eviction notice lay on the kitchen table, its edges curling slightly in the draft that whistled through the gap beneath the door. Elias Thorne, fifty-two years old and hollowed out by a decade of teaching medieval history to indifferent students, stared at the bold red stamp that read FINAL NOTICE. He did not cry; he had long since exhausted the tears that grief could produce, leaving only...
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