The Pale Shadows
The rain had not stopped in three days. It drummed against the shingle roof of the small station house, a relentless, hollow sound that seemed to hollow out the bones of everyone inside. Deputy Marshal Elias Thorne sat at his desk, his hands wrapped around a mug of cold coffee. The liquid had long since lost its warmth. It sat there, a dark, still pool in the ceramic, reflecting the fluorescent...
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