The Pale Tower
The train cut through the grey heart of the English Midlands, a long, bruised thing of steel and glass that smelled of wet wool and stale tobacco, carrying Elias Thorne back to the place where he had once believed he could solve the riddle of the world, a belief that had since curdled into a cold, hard stone in his gut, sitting heavy against the spine of his ribs as the landscape blurred into a...
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