The Distant Summer
The crystal decanter in your hand is cold, the condensation weeping down the glass in a thin, erratic line that mirrors the tremor in your wrist, and you hold it up to the light of the chandelier, watching the amber liquid catch the fire while the noise of the banquet hall crashes against the windows behind you. You are Elias Thorne, a military judge of thirty-two years, and in this moment,...
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