The Pale Echo
The train hissed to a halt in the grey void of the Blackwood Asylum, a brutalist fortress of iron and stone that seemed to grow out of the industrial fog rather than sit upon it. Inspector Elias Thorne stepped onto the platform, his coat heavy with damp, his mind a tight knot of calculation regarding his pension and the finality of death. He was forty years old, a man who had spent two decades...
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