The Pale Tower
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that turned the cobblestones of the lower city into slick, dark mirrors, and in the high, narrow tower room at the end of the Spire Street, Elias Thorne sat in the corner, his back against the cold stone, watching the water drip from the eaves with the intensity of a man trying to solve a mathematical equation that would save...
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