The Faded Portrait
Thorne. The voice came from the doorway, sharp and clipped, cutting through the hum of the air conditioning in the breakroom. Elias Thorne looked up from his cold coffee, the paper cup sweating in his hand, and saw Inspector Marcus Vane standing there. Vane was new to the sector, a man who wore his authority like a fresh coat of paint, bright and drying too quickly. He wanted the file on the...
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