The first eagle I remember was already dead. As a child, Royd Moore was taken to Maidstone Museum, where one display stayed with him more than all the others: a Sea Eagle, huge, still, and held behind glass. At the time, it was simply fascinating. Only later did the question begin to form: how had something that belonged to the sky ended up in a case? The Eagle in the Glass Case follows that memory into the deeper layers of Kent’s past. From the Roman eagle carried inland from Richborough, to the legend of Richard of Eastwell, to the White-tailed Eagle shot at Godmersham Park in the nineteenth century, the novella traces a Kentish pattern of height brought down into metal, brick, lead, wire, glass and label. This is not a nature essay, and not a ghost story in the usual sense. It is a Kent After Dark novella about wonder, harm, memory and return. Sea eagles are coming back. But the gun has not entirely left the story. The glass case was not the end of the eagle. It was only where I first met it.