The Arrow of Sorrow

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2026-06-03 06:11:28 -

The fog on the Thames did not roll in so much as it descended, a yellow-grey weight pressing down upon the warehouses and the cobblestones and the bones of the men who worked them. Arthur Pendelton stood in the skeleton of a riverside warehouse, his breath pluming in the cold air, and drew the bowstring to his ear. His hands would not hold. They trembled the way a leaf trembles before it lets...

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