The Faded Shield
The pen in Arthur Vane’s hand was a heavy thing, a stub of black lacquer that felt less like an instrument and more like a weight dragging his wrist into the paper. He had been trying to sign the requisition form for three minutes, the nib scratching a jagged line that bled into the fiber of the government-issued bond paper. His hand had stopped shaking only when he set the pen down, but the...
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