The Pale Verdict
The road to the manor was a ribbon of mud and stone, winding through the gray mist of the Yorkshire moors. Captain Elias Thorne rode alone. His horse, a dappled gray named Silas, moved with a heavy, deliberate gait, its breath pluming in the cold air. Elias sat tall in his saddle. He wore the black leather of the Royal Constabulary, stiff and unyielding. The metal of his epaulets caught the dim...
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