The Faded Frontier
The cart rattled over the cobblestones of the King’s Quarter, a sound like teeth grinding against the jawbone of the earth. Elias Thorne sat hunched in the driver’s seat, his spine curved into a permanent question mark, his hands locked around the reins. The leather was worn thin, the threads fraying like the edges of his sanity, but it held. It had to hold. Beside him, in the back of the open...
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