The Distant Clue
The timber of the Halloway estate did not rot so much as it remembered, a slow, muscular contraction of oak and pine that Elias Thorne could feel in the soles of his boots as he stood in the center of the main hall, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and old varnish. He was forty-two years old, a structural engineer by trade and a father by desperation, and the ledger in his mind was...
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