The Distant Blade
The rain had not stopped for three days, and the sound of it against the high, arched windows of the lighthouse keeper’s cottage was a constant, low-frequency hum that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of Elias Thorne’s bones, a physical weight that pressed against his chest as he sat at the heavy oak table, his fingers trembling around the cold rim of a coffee mug that had long since lost its...
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