The Pale Door
The letter from the Crown was thin, its ink faded to the color of dried blood, and Elias Thorne held it up against the gray sky of the Blackwood Pass as if checking the date of his own execution. It was a standard termination notice, polite and cold, citing "continued neglect of cartographic duties due to health concerns," but to Elias, who was forty-two and coughing up specks of rust into the...
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