The Distant Joke
Thorne. The name was not spoken aloud, but it hung in the dust-choked air of the rotunda, heavy and accusatory, a word he had heard too many times in the years since the department had decided that his presence was a liability rather than an asset. Elias Thorne sat on the cold stone floor of the abandoned St. Jude’s Chapel, his back against a pillar that felt warmer than it should have, and he...
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