The Distant Whispers
The carriage wheels bit into the frozen gravel of the estate’s northern approach, sending up a spray of sleet that caught the pale, dying light of the afternoon and turned it into a thousand sharp, stinging fragments of glass. Elias Vance sat with his back rigid against the velvet lining of the seat, his hands folded in his lap, fingers interlaced so tightly that the knuckles had gone the color...
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