The Wistful Letter
The leather of the journal cracked as Elias Thorne pressed the pen to the page. It was the third hour of the watch, and the damp in Blackwood Manor had seeped into the soles of his boots, a cold weight that dragged at every step. He counted the stitches on the cuff. Forty-two. Each one a knot of silver wire, tight as a noose. He needed the Silver Cuff back from Silas. Not because the metal was...
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