The Pale Verdict
The mist in the mill town of Ashenford did not lift so much as it dissolved, a gray veil that clung to the cobblestones and the soot-blackened brickwork of the textile factories. It was a damp, heavy silence, the kind that pressed against the eardrums before the clatter of the looms began its relentless, rhythmic pounding. Elias Thorne moved through this gray world with the quiet, deliberate...
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