The Pale Echo
The rain in Millhaven did not fall so much as it hung, a grey curtain that dampened the breath and turned the cobblestones into slick mirrors. I stood in the alley behind the Ashworth Mill, my hand resting on the cold brass of my holster, while Constable Miller argued with the air. Miller’s face was flushed, his eyes darting away from mine, a subtle rejection that felt heavier than the wet wool...
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