The Pale Path
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray weeping that turned the cobblestones of the old quarter into slick mirrors reflecting the soot-stained windows of the town hall, where I sat alone with a ledger of names and a growing, cold stone of dread in my chest. I am an investigator of sorts, though my title is modest and my methods are quiet, and I have spent the last fortnight...
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