The Faded Sutra
The rain on the cobblestones of St. Jude’s did not fall so much as it settled, a heavy, gray mist that clung to the wool of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s coat and seeped into the marrow of his bones. He walked the perimeter of the old quarter with the mechanical precision of a man who had long since stopped feeling the cold, his boots striking a rhythmic, hollow beat against the wet stone. The air...
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