The Pale Tower
The vial in Elias Thorne’s hand weighed less than a paperclip, yet it dragged at his fingers with the heavy, insistent gravity of a wet stone. He stood in the courtyard of the estate, the rain slicking the cobblestones into a dark, reflective mirror that distorted the grey sky above, while the liquid inside the glass hummed against his palm, a rhythmic pulse that seemed to originate from...
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