The Wistful Ashes
The ash tree in the private garden of the State Reclamation Bureau’s executive wing stood bare and brittle against the perpetual gray of the November sky, its branches reaching out like skeletal fingers that had long since forgotten how to grasp, and Elias Thorne, a forty-two-year-old enforcement officer with two decades of service etched into the lines of his face, stared at it from the...
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