The Distant Clue
The rain had been falling for three days, a persistent, gray sheet that blurred the edges of the world against the windowpane. Inside the study, the air smelled of damp wool and old paper, a scent that had become indistinguishable from the very marrow of Elias Thorne’s bones. He sat in his high-backed chair, the leather cracked and soft with age, staring not at the books before him but at the...
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