The bell in the tower did not ring for the dead. It rang for the living, a heavy, brass-throated sound that shook dust from the rafters of the chapel. It rang because Elias Thorne was still breathing.
He sat in the high-backed chair by the window, his hands resting on the arms. The wood was worn smooth by decades of other hands, but today it felt foreign to him. He held a small object in his...
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