The Faded Shield
The cold iron of the badge felt heavier in Arthur Vane’s palm than it had in twenty years of service, the metal biting into his skin with a dull, persistent ache that matched the stiffness in his knuckles. He held it up to the grey light filtering through the mill window, watching the tarnish swirl in the filigree like rust in stagnant water, before sliding it back into his waistcoat pocket. It...
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