The Distant Clue
The bread was hard. It sat on the table, a wheel of stale grain. Cracked. Broken. Thomas looked at it. He did not touch it. He was a man of the law. Or so they said. A King’s Man. A shield for the realm. He wore the leather of the guard. Heavy. Worn. It smelled of sweat and old blood. Outside, the wind howled. The road was a ribbon of mud. It led nowhere. It led to the edge. Thomas was not...
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