The Pale Garden
The carriage wheels rattled over the cobblestones of Blackwood County, a rhythmic, grinding sound that seemed to vibrate in Captain Elias Thorne’s teeth. He sat rigid in the corner of the hired vehicle, his uniform pressed to a mirror shine, his eyes fixed on the muddy road ahead as if the horizon itself were a target to be neutralized. Thorne was forty years old, a man carved from granite and...
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