The Distant Affair
The first thing Elias counted was the hours, not the coins, though the coins were the reason he had to count them at all. Fourteen hours since the last pain had spiked in his knuckles, fourteen hours of silence in the cellar of Harrow House, a silence so thick it felt like wet wool stuffed into his ears. He sat on the cold flagstones, his back against the damp brick, and polished the iron key...
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