The Distant Clue
The house stood at the end of the lane, a monument of grey stone that had outlasted three generations of the Vane family. It did not decay. It endured. The ivy clung to its walls with a persistence that felt less like nature and more like intent. Inside, the air was thin and cold, carrying the scent of old paper and dried lavender. Elias Vane sat in the center of the drawing room, his hands...
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