The Distant Crown
The fog in the valley of Oakhaven was not merely weather; it was a physical weight, a damp wool pressed against the face. Elias Thorne, a constable of thirty-four years with a spine as rigid as the oak he carried in his name, marched through it. He walked with the heavy, deliberate steps of a man who had spent fifteen years enforcing the peace of a district that no longer deserved it. In his...
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