The Distant Summer
The warrant was for thirty thousand dollars in embezzled state funds, a sum that would buy a small ironworks or feed a regiment for a month, yet here it was, folded into Elias Thorne’s breast pocket, warm against his ribs. The train into Oakhaven ran late, the wheels grinding against the track with a sound like teeth on gravel. Elias sat by the window, watching the landscape blur into a grey...
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