The Distant Legend
The damp stone of the cellar swallowed the sound of the glass breaking, a sharp, wet crunch that Elias Thorne felt more in his teeth than in his ears. He was forty-five, a sergeant in the garrison guard, and for the first time in his life, his hands were not steady. He held the vial of morphine, a small, dark tear in the world’s order, and crushed it against his palm with a desperation that...
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