The Pale Door
The rain did not fall so much as it was driven, a horizontal curtain of grey sleet that stung the exposed skin of the valley floor with the relentless, indifferent precision of a machine gone mad. Elias Thorne moved through this deluge not with the heavy, plodding steps of a man seeking shelter, but with the fluid, desperate grace of a predator that had long since forgotten how to be prey. He...
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