The Wistful Grid
The carriage wheels ground against the ancient, cobblestone road that wound through the mist-choked valleys of the Scottish Highlands, a rhythmic clatter that seemed to count the remaining seconds of his life rather than the distance to the capital, and within the dim, velvet-lined compartment, Julian Thorne sat with his hands resting on a leather-bound book that did not open, for he had not...
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