The Distant Clue
The air in the Grand Hall of the Whitmore Estate hung heavy, saturated with the cloying sweetness of burnt sugar and the metallic tang of old blood. It was a banquet of sorts, though not for the living in any true sense, but for the ghosts of industry that still haunted the corridors of this decaying Victorian manor. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the head of the long mahogany table, his uniform...
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