The Distant Clue
"You are dead, Thomas. And you have forgotten how to breathe." I looked up from the ledger. The ink was still wet. It shimmered like a black pond. I did not look at the man. I looked at the coat. It hung on the hook by the door. It was a heavy thing. Wool. Grey. It smelled of rain and old paper. It had been there for three years. I had bought it from a stall in the market. The seller was a...
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