The Wistful Dinner
The velvet lining of the great coat was fraying at the elbow, a dark tear in the midnight blue fabric that exposed the pale, rough wool beneath, and Elias Thorne stood in the center of the cobblestone square, watching the rain slick the ancient stones until they shimmered like the scales of some buried, forgotten beast. He was a man whose hands had built the city’s most celebrated tapestries,...
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