The Distant Crown
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, grey drizzle that turned the cobblestones of the old district into slick, reflective mirrors of the low-hanging sky, and it was in this damp, suffocating quiet that Elias Thorne, a man whose uniform had begun to hang on his shoulders like a shroud too large for the ghost within, stood before the heavy iron door of the precinct’s archive...
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