The Distant Legend
Thorne, get your eyes off the window and look at the ledger. Elias Thorne blinked, the cold air of the archive hitting the sweat on his forehead. He was forty-five, a man whose spine had begun to curve like a question mark under the weight of years spent hunched over medieval folios, and he wanted nothing more than to finish the catalog of the St. Jude’s Asylum herb garden before the solstice....
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