The Distant Clue
The rain fell on the roof of the farmhouse in a steady, rhythmic drumming that sounded less like weather and more like the distant beating of a thousand small hearts. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood by the window, his reflection a pale, hollowed-out ghost superimposed over the gray expanse of the field. He held a single, dried sprig of lavender in his hand, its purple hue faded to the color of old...
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