The Pale Shadows
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of Whitehall into a slick, grey mirror that reflected the gas lamps in long, trembling shivers. Elias Thorne stood on the steps of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, his coat buttoned to the chin, holding a leather satchel that felt heavier than the documents inside it. The leather was soft, worn smooth by years of handling, a...
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