The Distant Nightmare
The coat was red. Not the dull oxblood of the city’s bricked facades, but a bright, arterial crimson that seemed to pulse against the gray November air. Elias Thorne held it in his gloved hands, the wool heavy and wet from the rain. It had been found on the steps of the Ministry of Internal Order. No body. Just the coat. And inside the left pocket, a single, polished silver button engraved with...
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