The Pale Bridge
The gate was open. That was the first thing Thomas noticed, though his mind refused to process it as a fact, preferring instead the cold, damp weight of his coat and the hollow ache in his ribs where the pain had settled three days ago. He stood at the edge of the courtyard, the wet cobblestones slick under his boots, staring at the iron bars that should have been locked, sealed with the heavy...
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