The Faded Guest
"You’re holding it wrong, Sergeant. It’s not a weapon. It’s a name." The voice came from the shadows of the gallery, thin and reedy, drifting down from the upper balcony where the light from the gas chandeliers caught the dust motes dancing in the air. Elias Thorne did not turn his head. His eyes remained fixed on the object in his gloved hands, a small, rectangular piece of parchment that had...
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