The Wistful Voyage
"Major, I’m requesting my discharge. Effective end of the month." The silence in Halloway’s office was not empty; it was heavy, pressurized, smelling of stale coffee and the damp wool of the coats hanging by the door. Elias Thorne stood by the window, his hands clasped behind his back, knuckles white against the grey flannel of his trousers. He was forty-five years old, and the river outside...
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