The Pale Door
The wind did not howl; it screamed, a thin, high-pitched keen that tore through the gaps in the ancient stonework of the Abbey. It was a sound that lived in the bones, a vibration that set the teeth on edge and turned the blood to ice water in the veins. Elias Thorne pressed his back against the cold granite of the nave, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts that misted in the frigid air....
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