The Faded Masquerade
The rain had been falling for three days, turning the mud outside the magistrate’s office into a slurry that sucked at Elias Thorne’s boots. He counted the steps from the gate to the door: fourteen. He counted the drops hitting his shoulder: too many to keep track of, but enough to soak through his wool coat. In his left hand, he held a folded piece of paper. It was a warrant, forged with a...
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