The Faded Apartment
The ink on the discharge papers was still wet when I signed my name, the pen scratching a sound like a bone breaking against the table. I was thirty-two, a veteran of the Iron Guard, and I was handing over the last thing that mattered to me: my brother Julian, who was twenty and already trembling with a fear that had nothing to do with the cold. The barracks in Ashworth were not a building so...
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