The Faded Masquerade
The lamp in the Major’s office had burned low, casting a sickly, amber glow over the desk where the papers lay scattered like shed skin. Elias Thorne stood in the doorway, his boots heavy on the warped floorboards, watching Halloway turn the page of a ledger with a finger that trembled slightly from age or alcohol. It was a small, human weakness, and it made the man look less like a statue and...
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