The Pale Fracture
The rain in Ashwood had a weight to it, a heavy, industrial drizzle that turned the cobblestones into slick mirrors reflecting the grey, soot-stained facades of the textile mills. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the platform, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, the canvas soaked through with a dampness that seeped into his bones. He was a man who had spent twenty years measuring the...
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