The Wistful Ashes
The rain in Oakhaven did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slicker, turning the cobblestones of the Archive District into a mirror of the grey, perpetually overcast sky. Elias Thorne, thirty years old and possessing the stoic, unremarkable face of a man who had long since stopped expecting the world to offer him anything beyond duty, sat at his desk in the basement of the...
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