The Faded Road
The letter was on the table, and it was not where Elias had left it. He stared at the parchment, the ink still wet, the signature of Alderman Halloway smudged at the bottom. The air in the parlor was thick with the scent of damp wool and the stale, metallic tang of fear. Elias Thorne, forty-two years old and known in the valley as the man who listened to the dead, felt the cold draft brush...
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