The Distant Promise
Forty-two of the Amber Stair was a number Homer Hutchins had memorized in his first year of service, a detail of the counting room’s architecture that meant nothing to the men below and everything to the officers above. The air in the barracks smelled of damp wool and old iron, a scent that had seeped into the lining of his coat over twelve years of guarding the Fens. He stood before Captain...
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