The Pale Bridge
The sky above the valley of Ashford did not merely darken; it collapsed, a heavy slate lid pressing down upon the earth with a silence so profound it felt like a physical weight against the eardrums, and in that suffocating stillness, Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the crumbling stone arch that spanned the River Ouse, holding in his trembling hands the iron key that had not turned in a lock...
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