The Wistful Throne
The wristwatch on Elias Thorne’s left arm ticked with a mechanical indifference that felt louder than the wind howling against the high, narrow windows of the fortress, its second hand sweeping across the face in a precise, rhythmic arc that counted down the minutes to the end of his shift, a shift that had lasted four hours, forty-two minutes, and would last another thirty-eight if the warden...
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