The Wistful Incense
The rain in Leeds did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slicker, allowing it to slide off the boots of the men who walked the streets with the heavy, rhythmic certainty of men who believed they were holding back the tide of chaos. Elias Thorne was one such man, a Constable of the Special Order, a title that sounded more like a medical diagnosis for a terminal condition than a job...
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