The Pale Bridge
The rain in Oakhaven did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slicker. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the unfinished Pale Bridge, the wind tearing at his coat, and watched the Magistrate’s carriage disappear down the muddy track toward the town center. He had just been told, in tones as casual as a man discussing the weather, that his alibi for Clara’s disappearance was...
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