The Distant Crown
The turkey in the center of the table was a monument to silence, its skin glistening under the chandelier’s harsh, unblinking light, while the oak wood beneath it hummed with a low, subsonic vibration that Elias Thorne felt in his teeth rather than heard with his ears. He stood at the head of the table, a retired federal marshal whose hands were steady enough to tie a knot in a rope but not...
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