The Faded Paradox
The shadow had followed Elias Thorne since the autumn of 1346, a cold, viscous absence that clung to his heels like wet wool, but it was not until the morning of the winter solstice that it first touched his skin, burning with a heat that smelled of cheap wine and ink. Elias, a man of thirty-two years who had served the Inquisition for a decade, stood in the cramped office of the High...
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