The Distant Cartograph
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the dockside alley into a slick, black mirror that reflected the grimy gas lamps with a trembling, amber distortion, and it was in this perpetual, weeping twilight that Elias Thorne stood before the heavy oak door of the Magistrate’s office, his hand hovering over the iron latch with a hesitation that felt less like fear and...
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