The Golden Downtown
The transfer request lay on the desk, a sheet of thin, brittle paper that Elias Thorne held between his thumb and forefinger, the edges already softening from the damp air of the precinct. He had signed it three times, the ink still wet, a dark smear against the grey morning light filtering through the fogged windows of Oakhaven. He wanted the archives, a quiet room inland where the war was...
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