The Distant Promise
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended curtain of grey mist that turned the cobblestones of Millhaven into a slick, reflective mirror, doubling the dim, flickering gaslight of the watchtower where Silas stood, his fingers white-knuckled around the hilt of a sword that felt heavier than the iron it was forged from, heavier than the night, heavier than the silence that...
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