The Wistful Witness
The rain tapped against the glass of the window. It was a steady, rhythmic sound. Like a clock ticking down. Elias stood in the center of the room. He wore his coat. It was heavy. Wool and damp. The smell of wet dog hung in the air. The house was old. Brick and stone. It had stood for a century. Now it was breaking. The plaster peeled from the walls. The floorboards groaned under his weight. He...
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