The Distant Crown
The ink was wet when the first crack appeared in the glass of the window. It was a thin, white vein, branching outward like a lightning strike frozen in time. Elias Thorne watched it with the detached curiosity of a man observing a specimen under a microscope. He did not reach for a cloth. He did not gasp. He simply turned back to the desk, where the heavy, leather-bound volume lay open to page...
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