The Distant Whispers
The silver locket hung from Elias’s thumb, swinging like a dead weight, its chain tangled in the wool of his sleeve. He held it up to the grey light filtering through the shop window, watching the tarnish catch the dull glow of the gas lamp. The metal was warm, uncomfortably so, pulsing against his skin with a rhythm that matched his own erratic heartbeat. Margaret Holloway stood on the other...
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