The Distant Blade
The letter lay on the mahogany desk, its seal unbroken, the wax dark red and heavy under Elias Thorne’s thumb. He had been holding it for three minutes, the weight of the paper negligible, yet it felt like a stone against his palm. Outside the window of the Royal Archive, the autumn wind stripped the leaves from the bare elms, sending them skittering across the gravel in a dry, rattling sheet....
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