The Distant Metropolis
The rain in Harrow’s Gap had a specific weight to it, a dense, oily quality that seemed to settle into the pores of the skin and the wood of the doorframes, leaving a permanent dampness that no amount of heating could fully drive out. It was a weather that favored silence, or at least the kind of silence that was heavy with unspoken things, and it was this silence that Major Elias Thorne had...
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