The Pale Door
The flood came not with a roar, but with a silence so profound it felt like a held breath. It was the kind of quiet that precedes the breaking of a bone, a stillness that settled over the town of Harrow’s End like a shroud. Elias Thorne, the town’s chief of police, stood on the porch of the municipal building, his hands gripping the wet wood until his knuckles turned the color of old parchment....
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