The Distant Crown
The old clock tower in the center of the market square had stood for two centuries, its face cracked like a dried riverbed, its hands frozen at a time that no longer existed. Elias Thorne stood before it, his leather gloves gripping the strap of a bag that contained nothing but the weight of his own mistakes. He was a man who dealt in trust, or at least he had told himself that was his trade, a...
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