The Distant Affair
The rain did not fall so much as it seeped, a slow, gray exhalation from the bruised sky that clung to the stone walls of the old manor like a shroud. Silas Thorne stood before the window, his hand resting on the cold glass, watching the mist devour the garden where he and Elara had once danced. He was a man of precise measurements and quiet habits, a carpenter by trade who had spent forty...
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