The Faded Quadrant
The champagne in your glass is stale, tasting of copper and regret, while the chandeliers above the grand hall of Blackwood Penitentiary drip condensation that looks uncomfortably like sweat. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-four, a senior corrections officer who has spent the last two years siphoning funds from the institution’s discretionary maintenance account to pay for the hospice care of your...
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