The Distant Clue
The rain does not fall so much as it settles, a heavy, grey veil that smothers the highlands of the Scottish border, turning the peat into a sucking mud that tries to pull the boots of the men in the grey uniforms down into the earth itself. You are standing in the center of the clearing, your hands bound behind your back with rough hemp rope that bites into the skin of your wrists, the pain of...
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