The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-20 03:50:50 -

The smoke from the incense stick did not rise; it hung, a gray veil suspended in the stagnant air of the study, thick as wool and heavy with the scent of dried sage and old paper. Silas Thorne sat in the leather chair, his hands resting on the armrests, fingers laced together with a tension that made the knuckles white. He was a man who had spent thirty years ensuring order, a constable of the...

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