The Distant Promise
The iron gate of the Blackwood Bastion did not creak; it shuddered, a low, subsonic vibration that traveled up through the soles of Silas Thorne’s boots, through the marrow of his shinbones, and settled in the hollow of his chest like a second, heavier heart. He stood in the courtyard, the rain falling in sheets of grey static, the air thick with the scent of wet stone and the copper tang of...
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