The Faded Bouquet
The rain had not stopped for three days, and it pooled in the cracked flagstones of the courtyard with a persistence that felt less like weather and more like a debt coming due. Elias Thorne stood beneath the overhang of the manor’s entrance, his coat heavy with water, his hand resting on the cold iron of the crowbar he had dragged up from the cellar, his mind fixed on the single, concrete task...
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