The Pale Bridge

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2026-08-19 11:57:44 -

The Pale Bridge

The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of Blackwood into slick mirrors that reflected the gaslight in trembling, broken halos. I stood at the edge of the platform, my tunic soaked through to the skin, watching the steam rise from the vents of the train that had brought me here. My name was Elias Thorne, and I was a man who believed in the rigidity of law, in the sharp...

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