The Distant Wound
The rain in Harrowgate did not fall so much as it settled, a persistent, gray mist that clung to the wool coats and the brickwork of the town hall, blurring the line between the street and the sky. Elias Thorne stood by the window of the municipal records office, watching the droplets race down the glass, their paths erratic and desperate. He was a man who had once believed in the architecture...
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