The Distant Clue
The quartz vial sat in Elias Thorne’s palm, cold and heavy, its surface fractured along a hairline crack that ran from neck to base. He held it as one holds a live coal, aware of the heat that might escape, yet needing the proof of the burn. Outside the window, the grey sky of the inquisitorial court pressed against the stone, indifferent to the man who had spent three years chasing a whisper...
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