The Pale Verdict
Thorne. The name hung in the air, heavy as wet wool, before the magistrate’s voice even fully formed. You stood in the kitchen, the floorboards creaking under your boots, and the sound of your own breathing was too loud, too ragged, filling the small space where the silence used to be. You wanted to clear your name. That was the only thing that mattered now, the only thing that kept the grey...
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