The Distant Clue
The oak ledger was heavy in Elias Thorne’s hands, the wood swollen and black with water, its spine cracked like a dry riverbed. He stood in the mud of the valley floor, the rain still falling in thin, cold sheets that slicked his hair to his forehead. Behind him, the river roared, a black wall of churning foam that had just swallowed the town’s only bridge. The water had risen with a speed that...
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