The Distant Cartograph
The rain hit the wet asphalt with a sound like tearing silk. Sergeant Thomas Vane held his ground. His boots slipped on the slick cobblestones. He did not care. Across the narrow alley stood a man in a grey coat. The coat was soaked. The man held a revolver. Vane’s hand hovered over his holster. The air tasted of copper and ozone. It was a stale taste. A taste of old iron. Vane’s mind was a...
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