The Distant Journey
The envelope was thick, heavy with the damp weight of the November air that seeped through the cracks in the Ironworks’ office door. Elias Thorne held it in his left hand, the knuckles white and twisted, while his right hand hovered over the desk, trembling with a palsy that had nothing to do with age and everything to do with the cold that had set up permanent residence in his bones since the...
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