The Faded Photograph
The rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the world outside the windows of the Whitmore estate into a blurred watercolor of slate and mud. Inside, the air was still and thick with the scent of old paper and damp wool. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the library, his back to the room, staring at the reflection in the large, floor-to-ceiling mirror that...
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